Believe in Yesterday
by H-thar
Summary: Prequel to "Always in Repair." AU: As if Serah doesn't have enough to deal with in the wake of Cocoon's fall, Hope's arrival complicates everything. Balancing burdens and blessings, all they can do is try to fit into the world on which they've landed.
1. Are you waiting?

**A/N: And the ball is officially rolling on this prequel! I've gotten far enough in my draft that I feel confident in starting the post, and I certainly hope it goes over well. The single perspective approach has been a real challenge…but I could USE a good challenge. Apologies to anyone who expected much in the way of romance – that's pretty hard to pull off when the Light half of the Hope/Light ship is indisposed, but I'll be trying to make enough mention that it's clear where I was headed (and where I ended up, to those who've read Always in Repair – which I assume is most of you). That said, PLEASE do REVIEW so I can make this as true-to-character and enjoyable an experience as possible!  
**

(Prequel to Always in Repair)

**Believe in Yesterday**

Are you waiting?

_Nothing will ever be the same._

As Serah trudged down the familiar path, muddy from days of unrelenting rain, she pushed the thought back to the farthest corner of her mind where it remained comfortably hidden. Three months was a pathetically short amount of time to be giving birth to that kind of doubt. Only on Sundays did it rear its ugly head.

_Is it really doing anyone any good to keep checking on them every week? Maybe it's just making me focus on the past instead of moving forward._

The steady mist picked up to a full-force shower, and she finally opened up her umbrella, a sunny barrier between herself and the depressing weather. Once the real street dead-ended at the edge of the settlement, she marched on down the lightly beaten trail to where the crystal statues of her only real family stood roped off in the field like museum artifacts. Post-evacuation chaos had left the military forces indecisive about what to do with the l'Cie – plenty of other things held higher priority. So they had remained where they landed.

Serah often brought Dajh along with her to see his father, but she was afraid the boy might catch a cold, given how disgusting it had been all week. That and having him with her required the semi-permanent mask of hopeful optimism to stay firmly in place.

_I wouldn't mind chatting with Sis and Snow alone for a change. _

As she approached, Serah saw the indistinct forms of the crystal statues through the haze of rain and felt a sharp, familiar ache welling up in her chest. She dragged her feet until she stood in front of her fiancé and her sister, allowing the moments of contemplation to settle in and pile up like stones on her heart. Whatever they had done to complete their focus had been at least partly for her sake, and must have somehow set her free. It seemed monstrously unfair to stand before them empty-handed.

_If I had just stayed away from the Vestige, or run away while I had the chance, they would never have followed me there. All of this could have been avoided…_

"I should have been strong enough," Serah said, broken and trembling, "to fight my own battle without dragging you both into this." Tears blurred her vision as she reached up to touch the fingers of Lightning's crystal hand, flinching at their rigidity.

"But you were right – I really am that pathetic, Sis."

Suddenly, a voice piped up from behind Light's statue over the sound of splattering rain. "Why are you crying?" it asked in a boyish tenor, dispelling any notions she might have had that the others were trying to speak to her from 'beyond.'

It was then that Serah also noticed the absence of a fourth crystallized l'Cie – one she couldn't identify, and quite frankly, had ignored.

"Who's there?" she asked, stepping around her sister to investigate. The boy's small frame was huddled up against the back of the crystal, and his clothes were so drenched and muddy that she couldn't tell what colors they had been. When he looked up at her under the yellow umbrella, his green eyes widened in recognition.

"You're Light's sister," he said immediately, mopping away the water still running into his eyes. "Crying isn't going to help, though. Do you really want them to see you like this when they wake up?

Serah felt her heart leap at the thought, but it came crashing right back down to reality before the moment was up. She blinked her eyes dry and pressed on.

"What's your name? And how long have you been out here like this?"

"It's Hope," he replied, fidgeting with a cloth tied around his wrist. "I don't really know how long it's been, but it was dark and rainy when I woke up, and I thought it would be best if we all stayed in the same place, just in case the others woke up soon. Not that I would've known where to start walking if I _wanted_ to leave." He looked back up, eyes heavy with the weight of a thousand questions.

_Hope? Is this some kind of cruel joke? Whatever the case, sitting out here in the deluge isn't going to bring_ anyone_ back, even if he happened to _be _hope personified._

"Alright then, Hope – come with me," Serah ordered simply, extending her hand down. "They'll find a way to town if they wake up, and staying here like this will only make you sick." Hesitating for a few moments, the boy finally nodded and weakly grasped her offered hand.

_His glove is soaked through. If he's been here since last night, it will be a miracle if he hasn't already come down with something._

But when she tried to pull him up, Hope didn't move. In fact, his grip felt more like an insistence that she join him there on the saturated ground instead.

"Can you wait with me, just a few more minutes?" he practically whispered, and the pleading look on his face made her stomach bottom out. The words she wanted to say to him were far from comforting – she felt wretched even thinking them.

_Let it go. It will pass. Eventually, we all have to give up and move on with life._

But the part of Serah that felt guilty for having wrecked yet another innocent person's future by drawing him in to the fal'Cie far outweighed her desire to dole out rational advice. She joined him in the mud, shielding them both with the umbrella and praying that its fragile protection might do some good.

The silent minutes passed. Nothing changed. Eventually, Serah put a hand on the boy's slim shoulder and stood.

"Well, I'm pretty sure Sis would give me an earful if I let you stay out here any longer," she said matter-of-factly, "so how about heading home now? We can come back later, you know."

Hope considered the offer, and the ghost of a smile appeared on his face. "Sure."

Standing unsteadily to his feet, he nearly fell over a couple of times before regaining balance, and Serah ended up half-supporting him for most of the walk home, but she honestly didn't mind. Satisfying the need to be of use to someone kept her from dwelling on the bitter questions that festered deep in her mind since Hope's appearance. The ones that voiced her most shameful feelings, that made her want to shout at the sky, _Why not Sis? Why not Snow? Why not Sazh? Why the one person that can't fix _anything_ in my life right now?_

Every waterlogged step of the journey, Serah shoved the dark feelings a little deeper, reminding herself of the one truly optimistic point in the situation: If one of them had awakened, there was a chance that the others would too. And while that was the only bright side from her perspective, it didn't change the reality of the miserable teenage boy struggling to walk alongside her. He didn't seem any happier about waking up before the other l'Cie than she had been.

_Selfish of me to even think like that. I'm not the one who just spent hours in a rainstorm surrounded by crystallized friends._

"You know, Hope, you might recognise some people in the shelter. What evacuation district were your parents in?" she asked, trying to take his mind off the figures fading into the distance.

He stiffened, mouth opening briefly before completely locking down, and she took it as a sign that she had, quite possibly, asked the worst question of all.

It wasn't until they had reached the shelter that Hope spoke again, and then only to be polite. "Is it alright for me to go inside like this?" he asked, pulling self-consciously at his mud- and rain-soaked clothes.

"Don't be silly; of course it is!" Serah ushered him through the door, up two flights of stairs and down the hall to their one-room temporary living space. The furnishings were basic, consisting of one full-sized bed with a nightstand and lamp, a smaller child's bed on the opposite side, an old dresser, and a beat-up recliner in the far corner. In the center of the room, Dajh was playing on the floor with a toy, but his bushy head snapped up when she stepped in.

"Serah! Did you stop the rain? I wanna go play!" he exclaimed in excitement, but curiosity killed his eagerness instantaneously, and he stared at Hope with wide brown eyes as though Serah had brought home a new pet.

"Sorry Dajh, I told you that isn't how it works—" she started to explain.

But his mouth was quick to catch up with his inquisitive face. "You're all wet! Only crazy people play out in the rain – Serah said so! Are you crazy?"

_Oh, the glorious 'imitation' phase. Sis just about killed me back then…_

"Not yet," Hope answered, rubbing his arms as the cold wetness sank in, but he grinned knowingly. "You're Sazh's kid, huh."

"You know Dad?" Dajh was already in rapid-fire question mode – that much was clear. "Did you see him before he got frozen?"

Stumbling over a couple of false starts, Hope finally replied, "Yeah, but it was right before Cocoon shut down and I don't—" He stopped abruptly, obviously realising his total lack of familiarity with their circumstances. Turning to Serah, he directed questions of his own.

"When _was_ that? And what ended up happening to everyone on Cocoon?"

_Of _course_ he would want to know. I should have said something before._

"Well, it's been about three months now. When Cocoon fell, they were only able to evacuate a small portion of the districts before a lot of the inner structures lost power and started collapsing, or else crystallized—" Serah began, but in the middle of her reply, Hope started into a fit of grating coughs, and she jumped into action. She grabbed a nearby towel and hurriedly led him from the room and down the hall to the building's male washroom.

_I _knew_ it. He's caught a cold._

Thankfully, no one was around that early in the evening to give her any trouble for practically dragging the boy in with her. Chills from the onset of a fever were already making him shiver uncontrollably, to the point that he slid down against the nearest wall and tried huddling against his knees for warmth. That wasn't going to do him any good, so despite his frail attempts to protest, she worked to help him get out of the soaked clothing.

"You have to take these off, or it's going to get worse." Her tone was insistent, but he refused to budge. The most she was able to accomplish was to get his sneakers untied.

"P-Please, Serah, I can do this my-myself," he said through chattering teeth, but that was not going to fly.

_Shaking like that, you couldn't undo a button to save your life._

Sighing, she tried again to reason with Hope. "Look, I know you barely know me, and you're just trying to do everything on your own, but you're_ sick_ right now and that changes things. You _need_ help, and that's okay. Trust me."

Another coughing fit immediately afterward apparently sapped his will to fight, and Hope finally nodded, letting his trembling arms and legs drop out of the way. Two sticky layers later, after the shaking had calmed a bit, she left him with his boxers and the towel at one of the shower stalls, promising to return with clean, dry clothes as soon as possible.

That left Serah in the throes of a dilemma – finding something that would fit the scrawny teenager. She was certain there were no children in her building that fit both factors of his size _and_ gender.

_Wait a minute…Maqui!_

Team NORA had been keeping constant tabs on her in Snow's stead, but due to the nature of their work with patrols and joint military operations to establish the settlement, the group stayed in a much more functional warehouse complex that was serving as the temporary Guardian Corps headquarters. Maqui had managed to rig their old communicators to work as short-range transceivers that could relay off his own antenna, so Serah's first thought was to give him a call.

She dialed in the channel and pressed the button. "Maqui, are you there? This is Serah, and it's an emergency!"

Suddenly, a burst of static blasted from the speaker, and she jerked the device far from her ear. "Emergency? What kind? What is it?" he fired off, one question after the other.

"Yes. Do you have any extra clothes you could spare, just temporarily? The boy that was crystallized with the others woke up, and his clothes are soaked, and obviously he can't wear_ my_ stuff, so I need your help!" She hated to sound so rushed, but the urgency of the situation and the urgency of his questions took it out of her hands.

"That's great! So one of them finally came back!" Maqui exclaimed before getting to the point. "But extra clothes…all I have is my other set of work clothes. Would that be okay?"

Serah was ecstatic. "Yes, of course! Could you bring those over here then?"

"Sure thing. See ya in five!"

_Maker, I wish I could drive a velocycle. I could have already gone there, gotten the clothes, and come back without pushing it off on someone else._

But she simply wasn't strong enough to properly control a velocycle. Accepting her long-occupied role of waiting patiently, Serah went to the small cabinet above the dresser and searched through several bottles within. Dajh had caught a nasty cold a few weeks before, and she was thankful to already have the proper types of medicine on hand. Having spent the better part of her childhood battling frequent bouts of illness, she remembered the basic treatment regimen for a number of common sicknesses. Considering Hope's case, she took out acetaminophen and ibuprofen, along with a strong cough suppressant.

_Hopefully it won't be any more complicated than that. Pneumonia would be disastrous, and I'm not sure the clinic even has enough antibiotics to go around as it is._

She had already been hearing reports of a few people coming down with some sort of serious infection, something far worse than pneumonia, and the thought made her instantly reconsider leaving him in the shower in his condition. As she turned abruptly from the dresser, Dajh looked up from the floor, eyebrows crinkling in what seemed to be concern. His mouth opened to say something, probably a question, but she didn't have time to waste and simply called out on her way through the door, "Be right back! Gotta check on Hope!"

Serah ran out of the room and down the hall, charging into the men's room without hesitation. The water was still running, so she called to him over the noise from outside the curtain.

"Hope? Everything okay?" There was no answer.

"Hope?" she called louder, but it was clear that something was off. Still, the thought of inevitably invading someone's privacy rubbed her the wrong way, particularly since Light had taught her the consequences of doing so from a young age. It had been a memorable lesson.

_Why me? What if he just couldn't hear me, or he was so hoarse that I couldn't hear him answer? Ugh._

But she was already far too concerned to back down. Serah ignored the angry sister voice in her head and peered around the edge of the curtain. Surprise etched itself on her face at not immediately seeing someone in front of her, but the instant she looked down to the tiled floor, she gasped.

Hope lay curled up on his side against the left wall of the shower, head resting on his folded arm. He seemed oblivious to the hot water cascading down.

The fear that he might have fallen in the shower vanished at his relaxed posture and the slow, easy rise and fall of his ribcage. She let out a sigh of relief, acknowledging that the heat and steam had simply lulled him into an exhausted sleep. Serah quickly turned off the water and grabbed the towel, holding it over him as she knelt down to shake his shoulder.

"Hope, wake up. Can you hear me?" He stirred slightly, mumbling something in his sleep, and finally squinted up at her. His brow knit in confusion, water droplets running down the creases.

"Light?" he asked sleepily, rubbing his eyes. "Where am I? And why are you—"

As he looked at her again, eyes ever-widening in recognition of the true situation, he regained the presence of mind to sit up, snatch the towel from Serah and retreat to the corner. Had he not already been running a fever, embarrassment could have easily painted the blush across his face.

_He thought I was Light?_

She looked down at the tiles, away from Hope's increasingly mortified expression. "Sorry about that. Promise I didn't look. Anyway, we need to get out of here so you can get dressed and take some medicine, okay?"

Hope mumbled something in reply, but the sound of creaking door hinges made Serah jump and turn toward the entrance.

"Ha! I knew you'd be here," Maqui started in, his presence multiplying the awkwardness of the situation ten-fold. He casually strode to where Serah knelt, peering over her head to the corner of the shower. "So what happened with the kid?"

Breathing deeply to focus, she replied in a somewhat irritated voice, "He's really sick, and he passed out in the shower, so I had to wake him up."

Maqui stepped to the side, looking back and forth between them. "Fun timing," he remarked, shrugging.

"How'd you know where I was, anyway?" she asked, standing to her feet and eyeing him skeptically.

The teen smirked in a way that reminded her distinctly of Snow. "Dajh said you ran off to check on 'Hope', so I put two and two together and voila! Is his name really _Hope_?"

Serah's little glare was enough to shut him up, but she still heard Hope mutter under his breath, "I'm right _here_, you know." Choking down the urge to snicker, she stepped toward him and held out both hands to help him up, casting a sideways glance to guilt Maqui into assisting as well.

Apparently still miffed at the other boy's words, Hope refused to comply and managed to stand on his own power, but the act exhausted his limited energy, so he begrudgingly allowed them both to support him on the way to the room. As soon as they got inside, he practically collapsed on the bed, drawing his knees to his chest and shivering in the towel.

Serah placed a hand on his forehead and felt the fever burning the skin – it hadn't taken long to flare up with renewed force. She didn't bother with dressing him, but maneuvered the covers out from underneath him and buried him up to the neck in blankets instead.

Movement in the corner of her vision distracted her – Maqui had placed a small stack of clothing articles on the bed.

He added a belt to the stack and absently remarked, "It's just coveralls and an old t-shirt. I guarantee they'll be way too baggy on him, but they won't fall off at least." Stepping back to take a look at Hope, he grinned mischievously.

"And you know, Serah, next time you oughtta just take him to the girls' room. Nobody would notice."

"Maqui, that is so mean!" she exclaimed, smacking him weakly in the arm and causing the blonde to laugh boisterously at the gesture. It did make her wonder, though, and she looked at the now-clean boy she had rescued from the rain. The flush wasn't helping her case.

_Guess he is a bit pretty for a boy. Must take after his mom._

Sick as he was, Hope just narrowed his eyes and glared at Maqui through his damp bangs. "Who exactly_ are_ you?" he asked roughly.

"Hey, it talked! And it _is_ a boy," Maqui exclaimed, smirking again. "I'm just the guy that brought you clothes. Name's Maqui. Welcome to the settlement, I guess." He reached out his ungloved hand to shake, and Hope hesitated before taking it.

"Thanks," he replied tersely, glazed eyes dropping back to the covers once he had retracted his hand. "You're not too big on first impressions, huh."

Gathering the medicine she had set out, Serah turned back to see Maqui shrug off the comment. He adjusted the goggles on his head, muttering in response, "Forget it. Just another day's work for NORA. Serah calls, we answer."

Hope chuckled at that, though it came out more as a series of tiny, raking coughs. "So you_ are _one of them. Thought you looked familiar. Snow would be more than happy to hear you say that." But he clamped his mouth shut once he had said it.

When Serah leaned closer to give him a glass of water and two of the pain pills, his gaze locked onto hers, and she saw undeniable guilt and empathy there, as clearly as if he had said the words, _I know it hurts, and I never should have brought that up_. The effect was unsettling, and she found herself responding with a hushed, "It's okay."

He half-smiled at the reply to his unspoken thoughts and took the medicine, and then settled back into the pillow.

_Not sure what's worse – talking about the others like they're dead, or pretending they never existed at all. There's got to be a better way to deal with this._

Maqui shifted uncomfortably on his feet. "Well, yeah so…I'd better get back…busted velocycles to fix and all that. Later, Serah!" He strode across the room and was half-way out the door when he stopped in his tracks, turning to face the bed with an uncharacteristic look of determination.

"When you get over this stupid little cold, you should come help me in the shop, Hope. I'm not gonna let a perfectly good set of work clothes go to waste!"

Hope's jaw dropped open, and he stammered, "S-sure." Serah just smiled to herself.

_Oh Hope, you'll learn pretty quick that insults and tasking make up the majority of his language of friendship._

"Good to hear it. I'm out then!" Maqui said, waving carelessly as he left.

Glancing across the room, Serah saw that Dajh had slumped forward on the floor where he sat, fast asleep against a large stuffed animal. She got the child to his feet with more than a little effort and dragged him over to the smaller bed on the other side of the room to tuck him in. Exhausted, she finally collapsed into the recliner and tugged off her shoes, curling up like a cat before pulling a blanket down from behind her head to wrap around herself.

"Serah," Hope said with apprehension, which was interesting to detect in the barely audible voice, "I can sleep over there – you're too tall for that recliner to be comfortable, and I don't—" Another coughing fit cut him short, reminding Serah that it was time for the liquid medicine anyway.

_No. I can't deal with another person's guilt plus mine. It's too much right now. It's just too much._

She got to her feet and crossed the room in a rush, frustration causing her to make harsh, sudden movements and nearly spill the cough syrup at first, but the look on his face when she went to administer the dose dissolved everything. For what seemed like the hundredth time that day, she regretted her bitter thoughts, wishing that they lined up with her good-intentioned actions.

"Here," she said much more gently, and he took the medicine from the spoon held in front of him. But as he swallowed, she was surprised to see tears well up and spill down his cheeks, rolling silently in two uninterrupted streams.

When he spoke, his already coarse voice somehow broke further. "She's _dead_," he choked out, looking down at his hands. "My mom, I mean. It wasn't Snow's fault, but I blamed him, and I tried to kill him for it, and then-then he saved my life anyway," he blurted out, and Serah's eyes became impossibly larger at the sudden confession. For one, the image of the slight teen even 'attempting' to kill her giant of a fiancé seemed totally absurd.

Hope nervously met her gaze, obviously trying to gauge her reaction, but he couldn't seem to stop his mouth any more than his tears. "I'm sorry – I mean you asked about my parents before, but I didn't want to talk about it because— Look, it was a terrible mistake, and you deserve to know. What's worse is that I didn't listen when Light told me to let it go – I acted childish and stupid, and I just _have_ to make it up to them...and to you. So please…I can't let you sleep in that tiny chair, not after you've helped me this much. I'll move over there."

Stunned, it took Serah several seconds to respond. It was hard to say whether it was the mention of that tiny piece of the dilemma Snow and her sister had been through, or the pain in Hope's apology that had left her more winded from the force of emotion hitting her in the gut.

"That's… not necessary, Hope," she stammered, hoping to avoid a further discomfort by appealing to logistics and skirting around the underlying issue. She didn't need anyone else trying to 'make things up' to her.

"I'll just sleep over here with you." She smiled at his odd expression and ruffled his hair, tacking on as she returned to the recliner, "And next time I'll make sure to keep the truth serum on a different shelf than the cough syrup."

Hope rolled his eyes at the joke, then wiped his face dry. "You really are perfect for him," he muttered. She was thankful that he hadn't pressed the issue.

"I heard that." Serah grabbed the extra blanket from the chair and walked around to the other side of the bed, lying down and making a cocoon around herself to Hope's left. "And yes," she mumbled sleepily, "I'd like to think I am."

"Serah?" he asked minutes later, bringing her back from half-sleep. She looked across to the same odd gaze he had given her before and simply responded with a soft "Hmm?"

"This is weird."

Serah snorted out a laugh. "No, silly. _Weird_ was back when we all had to stay in tents and huddle together under a bunch of sleeping bags for warmth! And even when I was a kid I had to _earn_ my own room. Besides, I've got my own blankie, thank you very much. What were you, a spoiled rotten only-child?"

Silence. Followed by light, cough-riddled laughter. "Forget I said anything," he said eventually. "Sweet dreams, Serah."

"You too."

She finally drifted off to sleep, wondering what on earth was going to become of their household, and how she was going to finish raising a teenager in addition to a six-year-old. Then again, her sister had done it, and without anyone's assistance. At least she had NORA, and some small part of her wanted to believe that Hope could actually be more a source of help than just another burden. For whatever reason, being needed made her feel that much more alive.

_Even if Snow and Sis and Sazh all came back tomorrow, I know that nothing will ever be the same. Not now._


	2. Confrontation

**A/N: Right on time! Seems like these chapters kept getting progressively longer (surprise, surprise…) but I think they also get better. Then again, the jury is REALLY still out on that one. I can't WAIT to see the reviews :D Also, this chapter has some pretty obvious bleed-over from the original story later on – you'll see what I mean. OH and I have one lone vocabulary term:**

***SAR: Search And Rescue**

Disclaimer: Square can keep their little games. I don't feel burned in the least stealing their characters, nor do I want credit :P

Confrontation (like a mirror)

"I _have_ to go back today," Hope said firmly, slipping on his gloves. "The guy at the desk said to check back in a couple of days and they might've heard from the search team."

Serah didn't like it one bit. The military's office that dealt with the issues of displaced citizens in their community was mostly run by PSICOM, and she still couldn't bring herself to trust them – not after the Purge of her home town and the way NORA spoke of them.

_Now that I think about it, even Sis said they were a bunch of gutless amateurs with expensive equipment, led by control freaks with too much power._

Sighing, she strode over to stand in the doorway, taking him by the shoulders before he could leave. "Hold on, Hope. I know what they told you, but I also know Gadot said a GC squad would have been sent on that kind of rescue mission, and they haven't heard anything about one. I mean, what if…"

_What if they're lying? What if they lead you on and leave you hurting even worse?_

His shoulders stiffened under her fingers, eyes hardening as he bit out the words, "I don't _need_ pity. If all I can do right now is track down my father, that's what I'm going to do, even if it might turn out to be a dead end."

_I should be jealous. If there was any possible method of 'searching' my way to where Snow and Sis are stuck, I would be all over it. _

"I know, I know," Serah repeated quietly, instinctively drawing him into a hug. "Guess it can't hurt to ask."

The boy had only been with them for a couple of weeks, and recovering from a nasty cold the majority of that time, but it had been sufficient to learn all about his family situation, highlights from the l'Cie journey, and a few personality quirks. When she got to know someone, she always tended to make it a personal project, and Hope had been no exception. She had to wonder, though, if he felt comfortable around her because she reminded him of his mother, or because she reminded him of Lightning.

_There's no _possible_ way he made it up, but it's weird that Sis let him tag along like that. He's the ultimate combination of things that annoy her to no end: young, male, and vulnerable._

"Serah," he said, tentative voice cutting through her reflections, "I kinda can't breathe."

Releasing him immediately, she moved out of the doorway. "Sorry! Umm, as long as you're going, don't forget to pick up a rations card from supply while you're there."

Hope cracked a smile at that, promising as he took off down the hall, "Sure thing. Back in a bit!"

After he had left, Dajh scurried over from his usual play area under the window and latched onto Serah's hand, staring up at her quizzically. "Where'd Hope's dad go? Is he frozen too?" he asked plainly.

She breathed in to reply, but her voice stuck in her throat for a few seconds. "He's not…frozen," she finally explained, patting his hair, "just missing. There should be a search team looking for him."

"Really? Let's go help them then!" Dajh exclaimed, trying to sprint out the door, but Serah caught him by the hood of his sweater. She had to laugh at his innocent sense of purpose. His six-year-old mind was already quick enough to think of ways to accomplish ulterior motives – namely, getting outside – but not nearly capable of getting anything past her. Besides that, preschool was on the schedule for his day, since a few mothers in the shelter had started up a class the previous month.

Smiling, she knelt down and straightened his clothes. "That's very thoughtful of you Dajh, but let's leave the dangerous stuff to the military, okay? I don't think Hope would like it if you missed class."

"Okay!" he agreed, easily swayed. "Miss Tavi said I get to use markers today!"

_Maker, if he brings any of them back I'll have a mural on my hands!_

_

* * *

_

To Serah's dismay, when lunchtime rolled around, Hope still had not returned to the shelter.

She had been running all morning, back and forth between their room and the common area where Dajh sat in class with a handful of small children, trying to assist the teacher with a sick little girl as well as figure out what they would be eating for lunch. Eventually, she ended up in the building's shared kitchen, alone with her anxious thoughts. She mechanically threw the ingredients for some generic stew into a large pot and turned on the burner, stirring the mixture and letting her own inner turmoil simmer down.

_Maybe he already left, and just decided to go by Maqui's workshop on the way back. No, he would've worn work clothes for that, not that green-and-orange thing. Maqui would _really_ give him trouble for the outfit. Still…_

"Oww!" she cried suddenly, as a bubble of boiling liquid popped near the brim of the pot and splattered her hand. "Ugh, why can't I just pay _attention_! Worrying is a waste of time." She turned the burner down and let the stew settle, making up her mind to take a quick walk to NORA's shop after lunch, just in case. At least going on intuition was _doing_ something.

The stew, luckily, was a big hit, and with the entire group of kids settling down for a nap as it was, Serah had nothing to keep her around. Rushing along, she got out of the shelter and over to the warehouse complex in less than half an hour.

"Lebreau!" she called out as she jogged across the street, waving toward the girl in front of building number thirteen. Lebreau whipped her dark head up from reassembling her rifle and waved back, but Serah got the feeling that something was up. Mainly because she hadn't seen Lebreau take that weapon from its case since the Purge.

Slightly on edge, Serah approached with caution. "What's going on?"

"Nothing unexpected, if you ask me," Lebreau said bluntly, going back to work on the rifle. "PSICOM's gone and pulled a stunt, and Gadot said to clean my gun. Lucky me." Looking back up, she added surreptitiously, "I take it Maqui called you."

"What? No! I just thought it might be a good idea to drop by," Serah replied nervously, but her head was screaming, _Oh no, what happened _this _time?_

Lebreau cast her eyes to the ground. "Awesome timing then. You really should go in there." She pointed a thumb toward the warehouse entrance on her right.

"Oh. Sure."

Nothing could have prepared Serah for the scene inside. She stumbled into the back of a gathering of people, all in GC uniforms, who immediately turned toward the intruder behind them. Six pairs of eyes stared her down.

_Well, five and a half._

"Serah? What are you _doing_ here?" The question came from an officer sporting an all-too-familiar eye-patch. If Gippal was involved, whatever had transpired was legitimately serious.

She gulped down fear. "Just-just looking for someone. He didn't come home, and I thought he might be here. What happened, Sir?" she almost squeaked.

Shaking his spiky head, the lieutenant reached to his left and shoved a clearly seething, red-headed girl in uniform to the foreground.

"Tell her all about it, Private. We've gotta come up with a contingency plan."

"Yes, Sir," the red-head ground out, arms pin-straight at her sides. She nodded to Serah and walked away from the group, so Serah followed mutely.

When they reached a cluster of crates on the far side of the room, the girl took a few deep breaths to calm down, then turned and stuck out her hand. "My name's Lucil," she said outright, and Serah shook her hand apprehensively.

"Umm, n-nice to meet you."

The private wasted no time in getting to the point. "You must be Hope's, erm, 'guardian', so you should know – the PSICOM duty officer gave him a really rough time today. I saw it first-hand. Hope didn't want to get you involved, but it's not like I can disobey a direct order."

"Please," Serah said, eyes wide as if to take it all in, "tell me everything."

Lucil crossed her arms. "You're not going to like it. I was posted at the entrance, minding my own business, when I heard the kid ask about some search party for a missing evacuation ship, and I pinged on it. I'd never heard of any 'missing' ships, much less a SAR operation for it. Anyway, the desk worker was new on shift and went and got his superior."

Interjecting, Serah asked, "Is that the duty officer you mentioned?"

"Yeah, that's the one," the private growled, narrowing her eyes as she went on. "He took one look at Hope and just…flipped out. I've never seen an officer rail on someone like that – it was worse than my boot camp sergeant! Most of what I caught was 'l'Cie' this and 'focus' that, or something about his father being a traitor. The kid couldn't get a word in edgewise and he kinda froze, then other civilians in the office started acting pretty uncomfortable or leaving the room, so I did the only thing I could do and called my unit officer. He was already making rounds in the district, so I got lucky."

It was abundantly clear that Lucil was still fuming about the incident, and as she continued to spill the details of how the officer's rant progressed, and how Gippal had to personally escort Hope out of there, Serah understood why. The disturbance it created within her brought on one of those rare occasions when she truly wished she could be Lightning, for the express purpose of beating the sound out of someone. Still, in the end, Serah's thoughts turned to a couple of nagging questions that refused to remain unanswered.

"But why didn't he come home? Why didn't he want to tell me?" she asked quietly, mostly to keep her anger down, but a tiny seed of hurt lay underneath.

_Maybe he doesn't really trust me enough yet. But he told me so much before…_

Lucil shifted her stance uneasily. "You… were a Pulse l'Cie, too. He thought they might follow the escort back, and he didn't want to draw attention to you, especially if that guy really has it in for _all_ 'enemies of Cocoon', like he claimed. Can't say I disagree."

That revelation was both comforting and frightening, but primarily the latter. Hope's problems had compounded, far beyond the disappointment she feared he might face regarding his father's disappearance – it went without saying that nothing more was offered on the status of a search party, based on Lucil's account. PSICOM had effectively added insult to injury by not only refusing further help, but threatening him like a criminal.

When Serah opened her mouth to respond, she found that her throat had gone dry. She promptly cleared it.

"I want to talk to him. Where is he now?" she asked directly.

Lucil let out the breath she had been holding. "He's with Gadot and the other guys. This way." She led Serah toward the back of the open storage and repair room, to a small door in the far left corner.

"Wait." The private held up her hand, motioning for Serah to stand to the side. "Let me see how things are going in there. He was in some weird kind of shock earlier. Wouldn't talk to anyone."

Nodding, Serah leaned back against the wall, once again resigned to wait patiently and fuel a stifling, unmentionable panic. She hated it.

_Hope was the last person to see Snow and Sis alive – well, not crystallized. He's the only connection with both of them that I have left, and if PSICOM tries to take him away…_

The door swung open, and Serah turned to see the top of Hope's silver head. Layers of disappointment and pain were likely under the calm exterior, but she could tell by his rigid posture that there was no way in this world or the next he was going to open up in front of a group of acquaintances. He refused to look up, and his voice was penitent.

"The guys said I can stay here, if that's okay. I didn't…mean to make you worry."

She wanted to say a dozen different things all at once, but the only words that managed to surface were mundane at best, sharp at worst. "Get your jacket. We're going home."

For once, she was glad of the emotion that crept into her voice, because that part of what she wanted to communicate did get through.

He casually stuffed his hands into his pockets, but his voice faltered. "Serah, I don't think—"

"No," she kept pushing, angry at the stinging sensation in her eyes. "That tiny excuse for a t-shirt is _not _going to help with the wind. Get your jacket."

_I'm not backing down. Not this time. You'll thank me later._

Hope raised his head at the repeated order, his expression such a blur of conflicting emotions that she couldn't make heads or tails of it. Either way, he gave up protesting, went back into the room, grabbed the jacket, and returned in less than ten seconds.

Lucil couldn't hide her look of utter surprise at the turn of events, but Gadot laughed and Maqui just punched Hope in the shoulder as he quipped, "Be warned – the Farron genes _will _come out. And next time you drop by, wear the right clothes, got it? I don't wanna see that orange thing ever again!"

One corner of Hope's mouth turned up. "Got it."

"Thanks, guys. Call me if anything else happens with PSICOM." That was all Serah managed to say to Maqui and the others before she lightly took Hope by the arm and headed across the warehouse to go, but the NORA members' faces conveyed understanding.

On the silent trip back to the shelter with Hope trailing behind, she considered the unspoken ways her friends had managed to create a safety net for the boy who had fallen into their lives so recently, easily welcoming him to their protection. It couldn't have hurt his chances that he went out of his way to keep her uninvolved with the day's incident. Perhaps their acceptance was all in the spirit of NORA's mission to 'be' Snow for her, and he had passed some secret initiation. But perhaps it was much simpler.

_We could make or break his life right now. That's something worth working for._

In the safety of the room, Hope didn't immediately fall to pieces, but she witnessed the cracking happen in stages. Slumping back against the closed door, he did not move for several minutes, occasionally glancing up to see Serah pour water into the heating pot or take a couple of mugs from atop the dresser. By the time she brought him a finished cup of hot tea, he was cross-legged on the floor holding his head in his hands.

"Don't burn yourself," she warned, setting the cup down on the floor beside him. "I have to go check on Dajh, but I'll be right back."

Nodding once, he gingerly took the mug by its handle and scooted out from in front of the door to sit against the wall instead. She hated to leave him like that, dejected on the floor with scalding hot tea in hand, but Dajh had to be taken care of as well.

Some of the kids were already being picked up by their mothers when she reached the common room. More than anything else, Serah needed to buy a little time, so she had a brief side-chat with the teacher as soon as she got the chance.

"Of course he can stay until dinner," Tavi said cheerfully, gathering up some of the markers that had been scattered around the room. "Zane's mom – you know, up in 21D – has to stay in the clinic this week. I heard she's been quarantined for this god-awful infection or something, at least until it clears up. Anyway, I already have to watch him until she comes back, and he gets along _so_ well with Dajh that he stopped picking on my daughter, so it's really no trouble."

"Oh, awesome then. Thanks a bunch!" Serah had to admire the woman's spunk, talkative though she was. It was still fairly early in the afternoon – surely that would give her long enough to sort things out with Hope.

When she returned to their room not ten minutes later, the situation looked bleak. He hadn't moved in the slightest – the tea was beside him on the floor, untouched. Obligingly, she sat in the floor with her own tea and faced him, back against the bed.

"Look, Hope – I'm the only other person here right now," she said in a soothing voice, "so shutting down isn't going to do anyone any good. It's pointless." She sipped the tea for a few moments, giving him time to respond.

He let out a heavy breath. "_Being_ here is what's pointless. You already know what happened and why I went to the shop, but you still insisted that I come back here and put you in danger anyway!" Hope suddenly cut off, biting his lip as he let the frustration that had raised his voice cool down. He finally looked up from the floor when he continued, the same tumultuous mix of emotions in his eyes as before. "But I couldn't say no. I wish it was just because I didn't want to let you down or because I owe you too much, but it was more…selfish than that."

_If I had five gil for every time I'd made a selfish decision…_

Then it hit her. He was no stronger than she had been in her own attempt to run away from Snow's promises and spare him the involvement with a dangerous l'Cie, and now she had hypocritically turned into an encourager herself. Hope tried to run, and she wouldn't let him. He had caved just the same. And as she looked on from Snow's perspective, as much as she wanted to convince herself otherwise, it simply didn't make sense to let Hope hide away and deal with it alone.

"What's so selfish about staying here and helping me with Dajh?" she asked, hoping to nudge him in a better direction and get to the heart of the matter.

Blinking, Hope considered that angle, but from the way his face fell again she could see that guilt had won out. "When you put it that way, sure, it sounds like I'm really trying to help by being here. But if I'm honest with myself," he mumbled, looking down at the floor between them, "I just…want to be around you. You're like pieces of everyone I lost all bundled into one person, so it's-it's easier to believe that things are going to be okay when_ you_ say they are. It's hard to trust anything else right now, and I need to trust _something_."

He hadn't explicitly said it, or possibly couldn't bring himself to speak the words, but she saw the source of pain. The tiny flame of purpose Hope had been feeding since the day he'd awakened – finding his father – had been effectively stamped out that morning. And he was looking to her to reignite it somehow.

Serah felt as if the weight that had settled on her heart for the past three months was transferred to her shoulders in that moment. It was a welcome change – albeit staggering.

_Can I even hope to meet that kind of expectation? And if I fail…_no_. It's not an option. That's what Sis would have said._

"That's a pretty tall order," she said softly, putting her tea aside to take his gloved hands, "but I'll be taking responsibility for my decision, here and now. I really hope today was just a one-time incident, but if PSICOM still has it in for l'Cie, they'll be after both of us, no matter where we go or who we're with. I don't know about you, but I could use the company." Smiling brightly, she released him to pick up his cup of tea and place it in his hands.

"Now you're letting it get _cold_, silly."

Unexpectedly, a crooked grin spread across Hope's face. The storm behind his cloudy green eyes began to clear for the first time since the day she had found him out in the rain, and resolve shone through.

"I'll do better," he said, downing the lukewarm tea in a few quick gulps and getting up to his knees.

He gripped the fabric of his pants legs in his fists and continued in a rush, "Anything you need – _anything_ at all, just name it. If I'm staying here, I want to pick up the slack, okay? I know I'm not anywhere near as strong as Snow or Light, but I'll catch on fast. You'll see."

Of course, he was right – he was fundamentally different from the two people Serah had leaned on for the last few years of her life. But Hope could not have known that his words, his actions, and his situation gave her the uncanny sensation of looking into a mirror. Maybe he saw in her the people he could depend on, but she saw herself – younger, orphaned and weak – in the unfortunate boy. It left her with a single, undeniable conclusion.

He needed a big sister. That's how _she_ had survived.

Serah looked him square in the eyes, unblinking. "I'd like that."

* * *

The next two weeks in the settlement were, much to Serah's dismay, more tense than usual. It seemed that every time she went into the town proper, another handful of the GC's formerly making safety rounds had been replaced by PSICOM sentries. And on days when Hope insisted on running errands while she needed to stay back with Dajh or handle other tasks at the shelter, she crossed her fingers and tried not to be overtaken with anxiety.

Not that she was alone in her struggle. NORA and the Guardian Corps command had been keeping tabs on the changing situation as well, and after the second time Hope came home without rations because his card was denied by the PSICOM overseer in disbursing, they decided to put mandatory protective measures in place. For one, Lieutenant Gippal pulled Lucil from her post and put her on standby escort duty – Hope would no longer be allowed to run errands alone. Even more drastically, he could not, under any circumstances, leave the shelter in his old clothing, and he would need to further disguise his conspicuous physical traits until they were certain things had died down with PSICOM.

Following that initial discussion, once the lieutenant and company had departed the workshop to handle related issues elsewhere, Serah had the privilege of witnessing the aftermath as the boys and Lebreau hashed out the details of Hope's 'disguise' amongst themselves. Yuj suggested that he dye his striking silver hair, but in the end they reached the compromise of tying the turquoise bandanna over it.

"Your loss," Maqui remarked, tossing the bandanna in his face. "With a nice shade of black hair and maybe a frilly blue dress, you totally could've passed for Lebreau's kid sister!"

Hope looked about ready to strangle him, and Serah would have held the perpetrator down while he did so, but Lebreau beat both of them to the punch. "You're such an idiot Maqui!" she huffed, pulling down the goggles from his head to snap them over his tactless mouth.

Grinning at the retribution, Hope was clearly caught off guard when she qualified, "Blue is _really_ not his color."

She ruffled Hope's hair and pranced off, leaving Serah to watch the smug expression on the boy's face turn into one of confusion, and then of indignity. He hastily tied the bandanna over his head, muttering under his breath, "Perfect. Even _girls_ think I look like a girl."

"Hey, Lebreau isn't _all_ girls – you really shouldn't let it get to you," Yuj pointed out, graciously trying to clear the negative atmosphere engulfing him.

"Yeah right. I'm starting to see a pattern. I'll bet even _Serah_ agrees with her." That's what Hope said, but when he turned to where she sat on a nearby crate, his eyes begged to be proven wrong.

_Why me? There has to be a cover-up for this, without lying outright._

She stood, hands on her hips in mock resentment, and replied, "What _I _think is that you're too young for anybody to tell anything – you look like a kid to me." He looked unconvinced, so she added on a little forcibly, "Still, wearing the bandanna that way sort of reminds me of Snow."

Hope sighed, exasperated. "That's just a sweet way of saying I'm so androgynous that you can't tell, but thanks for trying."

The remark sent Yuj and Maqui into a fit of laughter, and eventually even Hope was caught up in the humor at his own expense, to the point that Serah forgot any sense of seriousness attached to Hope's feelings on the subject.

So later that night, when he asked a tangentially related question as he got into bed, she didn't quite make the connection with his earlier insecurities.

"Serah, do you think most girls want guys like Snow, or is that just you?"

Yawning, she answered simply, "I can't speak for 'most girls', so who knows? Maybe it's just me. I'd imagine every person is looking for something different."

"For example?" he pressed, not quite willing to buy the generic answer.

She rolled over and faced him. "I'm never giving you tea after six _ever_ again," she grumbled, but he just stared inquisitively until she caved to humoring him so he would go to sleep.

"I guess a good example would be…Lebreau. I can't pin down what kind of guy she likes, and maybe_ she_ can't either, which is why she hasn't gone out with anyone yet."

"Oh. That explains a lot," he remarked.

Not really paying much attention in her cozy state, Serah rolled onto her back and wondered aloud, "A lot about what?"

"Why she treats all the NORA guys like brothers," Hope said matter-of-factly, and after several seconds of silence she was sure he had finally satisfied his curiosity and dozed off. She tried to do the same.

Not three minutes later, his voice brought her back from the verge of sleep. "Serah…what kind of guy does Light want?"

_Why do you even care? There's a big difference between women and girls._

"Your guess is as good as mine," she slurred, half-awake. "The only thing I know for sure is that she _hates_ guys like Snow. Sis has always been really… practical, and I got the impression that most guys weren't worth the trouble to her, since – well, you know a lot of guys just want…nevermind. Now please let me go to sleep, okay?"

"Sure," he said calmly. "Sweet dreams, and thanks, Serah."

"Anytime." But it had made her wonder, and a question was preventing her mind from shutting off, so she sat upright and asked pointedly, "Why are you so curious about all this? I mean, couldn't you have just asked in the morning?"

Hope flopped over and face-planted into the pillow. His voice was muffled, but there was no mistaking what he said.

"I'm turning fifteen tomorrow. I know I don't _look_ fifteen, but I feel it."

_That would have been nice to know. I'd take a thousand of Dajh's marker murals over hormonal issues_ any_ day._

_

* * *

_

**It's BACK! Ah, the beloved endnote humor, courtesy of my beta with the generally inappropriate imagination (that is inordinately hilarious) :D She also does appreciate the little comment here and there in my reviews ;-)**

**Let's All Picture Hope Wearing A Dress RIGHT NOW**

**Maqui**: Hey, let's talk about how much Hope looks like a girl. I'M SURE HE'S NEVER GOTTEN THAT BEFORE.

**Hope**: omg diaf.

**Serah**: Aw, it's okay. You just have delicate features. Some girls like that.

**Hope**: Really? You mean girls like Lightning? Does Light like delicate features?

**Serah**: Uh.

**Hope**: NOT THAT I CARE. Or anything. UNLESS SHE DOES. I WILL TOTALLY WEAR A DRESS FOR HER.

**Serah**: ...

**Hope**: Cos. Y'know. I respect her so much. And stuff.

**Serah**: oh god please never tell me what you guys did while I was frozen.

**Hope**: What? No, we-

**Serah**: I SAID NEVER.

**Hope**: Hey, all Lightning did was support me. She totally gave me the knife that I was going to use to kill your fiancee.

**Serah**: O_o

**Hope**: I wound up getting blown up before I could actually do it, don't worry.

**Serah**: ...


	3. Breathe, choke, breathe

**A/N: Ahh, chapter three. It's amazing how much editing still happens after the thirtieth read-through or so 0.0 Anyway, I'd like to think this installment has a little bit of everything, and I can't wait to read everyone's reviews! One little tidbit before we get started:**

***Using a wooden broom handle is a safe way to pry another person off of an electrical source if they are being shocked – you should NEVER make physical contact with (OR use an object that conducts electricity on) someone who is being electrocuted. A lot of you probably knew that anyway…**

Disclaimer: Squeenix owns this, but they should have screwed around with their characters more :P

Breathe, choke, breathe (again)

"I'm home!" Hope announced, marching through the door like there was nothing out of the ordinary.

Turning toward his voice, Serah could not deny that there clearly _was_.

She almost dropped the communicator from her hand at the sight, scrambling to keep her hold on it and hastily stammering into the mouthpiece, "Sorry, no. I've got-no I've _really_ gotta go, Lebreau – yeah, it's important. Okay, bye!"

She shut the device and rounded on him with a completely flabbergasted look. "Hope, what did you do to your _hair_?"

Much to her chagrin, he laughed. "Funny story, actually," he began, hands ineffectually mashing down the frazzled strands that stuck out every which way, like he'd been rubbing a balloon all over his head. "I found out the literal meaning of 'live wire' today, but Maqui said electrocution is just one of those typical workplace hazards. Serves me right for not wearing the gloves. I thought it would be easier to try connecting the circuit without them, and then _zap_! Wrong. Anyway, it's fine – he pushed me right off with a broom handle."

"Oh, is that all?" Serah said, forcing her tone to remain flat, though it came out harsher than she intended.

_Maqui is going to rue this day._

"Yep, that's it. No harm done!" Hope grinned, oblivious to her aggravation, and she decided to keep it that way.

"Hope, would you mind going to get Dajh today?" she suggested innocently. "I'm sure he'd love that, and I need to make a quick call."

Taking off his stained gloves to stuff them in the coveralls pockets, he shrugged at the simple request. "Sure." But as he walked out the door, he surprised her by calling over his shoulder, "Just don't give Maqui too much of a hard time – it really wasn't his fault."

"O-okay." _We'll see._

Twenty minutes and one colorful conversation with the blonde mechanic later, Serah started to wonder why Hope and Dajh had not returned. A curious impulse had her wandering along the hall and down the stairs to see what they were up to, and upon reaching the common room, she stood back and peered around the edge of the doorframe.

The sight was beyond adorable. Hope sat on the floor facing partly away from her with two little girls trying to brush his destroyed hair into submission, while Dajh kept running back and forth to show him pictures he had drawn. Hope was already surrounded by several brightly-colored pieces of scribbled artwork.

"Look! Look at this one! It's Dad and me and the chocobo chick, only I thought he'd prob'ly grow _really_ big and then we could ride him, so that's why I didn't draw him little. Is it good?"

_It actually is. Sazh would probably kill to have that piece of paper in his hands._

Hope stared at the picture for a few moments, smiling sadly before he replied, "Yeah, Dajh. It's _really _good. I think you should give it to Serah to put on the wall, in fact."

"All right!" Dajh beamed, but then he looked past Hope's head, directly at her from where he stood. "Hear that, Serah? I wanna put this one on the wall!"

_Busted._

There was no sense in hiding, so she walked straight into the lively roomful of children as Hope carefully turned his head to see her, his expression both surprised and a tad embarrassed. The little girl with platinum pigtails stopped brushing his hair and frowned at Serah, crossing her tiny arms.

"Are you Hope's girlfriend?" she asked, a picture of seriousness.

Serah nearly laughed out loud, but her hand flew to her mouth immediately, her shoulders shaking to keep it under control in the face of the possessive preschooler. Calming the reaction down to a painfully restrained grin, she was only able to answer with a rather unsteady, "No, I'm just his…"

_Would a six-year-old understand the concept of 'guardian'?_

Not so much disguising his own laughter, though blushing nonetheless, Hope patted the girl's head and finished the incomplete response.

"She's kind of my sister."

The other, brown-haired girl looked confused, and she immediately refuted, "But you don't look very much alike."

Hope was unfazed. "You don't_ have_ to. I wasn't lucky enough to get a sister from my parents, so I had to find one myself," he polished off convincingly. "Anyway, it looks like I'd better go, but thanks so much for fixing my hair." As he stood to leave, the pigtailed girl grabbed his hand and pulled against him.

"Why do you have to go _now_? I wanna put your pretty hair in braids, so you have to _promise_ to come back," she pleaded, and the teacher finally came to his aid, prying her hand free.

Smiling at their pouting faces, Hope said reassuringly, "Sure. I'll be around."

At that point, Serah had already gathered up Dajh and his artwork and headed for the door, still fighting the impulse to burst into giggles. "Thanks again, Tavi!" she called out, and they all made their way out of the room.

Throwing an arm around Hope's shoulder moments later, she said in a mocking, sugary voice, "Oh sweetie, are you really that ashamed of me? And I'm such a good girlfriend too…"

"It wasn't _that _funny," Hope muttered as he stuffed his hands into his pockets, but he couldn't help but chuckle to himself.

Snorting, she replied, "You're _right_ – that girl looked legitimately threatened!"

"Well, I'd only break her heart," he joked, stopping at the base of the stairs. He smiled and casually traced the rail with his hand. "Poor girl's just too young for me. Besides, I'm sure she only got defensive because she thought_ you_ were the one who messed up my 'pretty hair'."

Serah tweaked an eyebrow skeptically, but let his words sink in before thoughtfully replying, "It's really best not to assume things are _always _one way or the other. I mean, there's almost as big of an age gap between…well, you and my sister."

"What's_ that_ supposed to mean?" Hope sounded a bit uncomfortable, and something about the uncertainty in his voice lit up a light bulb in Serah's head.

_Now _that_ would really explain a few things. I think I may have hit more than just a nerve with him this time._

Clearing her throat as they got to the top of the stairs, Serah decided not to push it. "Hmm, guess I didn't really mean anything by it. Just a random example."

Hope just shrugged and went ahead to the room without another word.

* * *

Dajh's new picture was immediately displayed above his bed, part of a growing collage of artwork arranged on the wall, shortly before the three of them got into their evening routine. Dinner consisted of soup and bread – at least, that was the plan for Tuesdays. But once they had taken seats in the floor and Serah had grabbed the pot to serve it up, she realised that she had somehow left out the bread.

_No, wait. We ran out of allowance for it. If PSICOM wouldn't keep boycotting Hope's rations…_

It wasn't the first time they had run into a food shortage incident, and with each additional occurrence, Hope had become increasingly keen on the cause. She could tell that he was only keeping his concerns to himself as a way to maintain a peaceful, light-hearted atmosphere in the household, for hers and Dajh's sakes – and she was constantly doing the same for both of the boys in kind. Between the two non-confrontational teenagers, the issue never seemed to get addressed.

"Look Dajh," she said brightly, handing the boy his bowl, "It's tomato this time. Your favorite!"

He smiled up at her, but stared back down at the soup with a puzzled expression. "Aren't we s'posed to dip bread in the tomato? You said it's because there aren't any chunks, so it's better that way, right?"

And there it was – the last straw.

Hope didn't immediately say anything, but she could feel the tension thickening like a fog around him. That and he had a way of becoming unnaturally still when something set him off. Putting his empty bowl aside before she could fill it, he stood, pulled the bandanna from his pocket and tied it on, then slipped on his gloves.

"You're right, Dajh – this needs bread. Give me fifteen minutes, and I'll be right back with some, okay?"

Dajh just responded with an enthusiastic, "Okay!"

Serah couldn't imagine a single above-board scenario wherein Hope succeeded in that mission, and she went straight into dissuasion, nearly flinging the soup ladle as both hands automatically tried to gesture in protest. "Wait, where are you _going_? If this is some dangerous little scheme Maqui helped you cook up—"

"Don't worry, Serah," he interrupted, heading for the door. "I'm just calling in a favor. Piece of cake."

_Favor? Since when did you even have connections outside of NORA?_

"_Fine_," she shot back, glancing at the clock on the dresser and placing her free hand on her hip. "Fifteen minutes it is."

It was a nerve-wracking fourteen minutes and forty-eight seconds later when Hope returned to the room, smirking and holding a small loaf of bread.

"Done and done," he crowed, and she would have whacked him over the head for the whole affair if he hadn't given her such an angelic look immediately afterward, handing over the spoils. She opted to let it go so they could eat before the soup got cold, but just as soon as the dishes were taken away and Dajh began to nod off, her curiosity resurfaced.

Truth be told, Serah still wasn't sure whether to be suspicious or impressed. Once Hope had returned from the kitchen, she stared him down, arms crossed as she tapped her foot and demanded, "I've _got_ to hear this explanation. Spill it, or you get the recliner tonight."

"Ouch, that's a little harsh," he teased, but he plopped down on the floor in front of the bed and told the story anyway.

The tale began with a seemingly unrelated question. "So, do you know the older lady down in 14A?" he asked, unlacing his shoes.

"Not very well, but I can picture what she looks like. Why?"

"You'll see," he assured her. "First off, her room is close to the stairs, and today when I came back from the shop, she was outside the door reading a book in the hall. I asked her why she was sitting out there looking uncomfortable when she could just read in her room, and that's how I found out that her lamp had shorted out. And I don't mean _burned_ out – she said the bulb was new."

Trying to follow along, Serah's brow furrowed in concentration. "And you didn't help her with that _earlier_ because…?"

"Ha, yeah, that was one downside to the 'shocked' hair. She didn't believe me when I said I could fix the lamp, and I ended up betting her that I could, but I couldn't decide _what_ to bet on it! So she said to come back when my brain wasn't too fried to make a decent wager."

Serah couldn't help the wry smile that spread across her face. "I take it you won the bet."

"Of course I did," Hope said seriously. "Maqui taught me how to fix a simple wiring short like _that_ over a week ago. The lady was reading in her room again before I left."

_Impressive, then – gives new meaning to the term 'breadwinning'. I should find a way to pay this one back._

Joining him on the floor, she wrapped an arm behind him. "Thank you times infinity for doing that."

He just mumbled a shy "No big deal" to her gratitude, and after he had stopped squirming to settle into her shoulder, another thought occurred to her – one she decided to share.

"You know, I think I should find some kind of part-time work like that – something extra I could do while Dajh is in class. That's how NORA gets additional equipment for their projects, so I'm sure it would be just as easy to earn rations. I could clean, or babysit, or cook maybe."

Hope tilted his head up to face her, eyes questioning. "Don't you already do all those things now, just as favors?"

"Yeah," she admitted, "but it's not like a building full of mostly single parents can spare rations anyway." _It's just wrong to ask._ "Guess we're back to square one."

She let the comment hang in the air for a minute or so before finally asking, "Well, do _you_ have any bright ideas?"

As he became progressively more relaxed, Hope gave up on the bony shoulder and slid down to rest his head on her lap. "Maybe," he began, yawning, "you should go work at the clinic. You love helping people, and you're really good with treating colds and stuff, so it just…fits. Like a glove."

_Why didn't I think of that before? Guess I've been too distracted with the boys, and then with the PSICOM incident lately._

"Huh. I'll have to check that out. Really does pay to get an outside opinion – if nothing else, I should just keep you around for advice."

He didn't respond. She hated to bother him, but she knew that eventually they would both get uncomfortable and have to get off the hard floor anyway.

Prodding his shoulder, she whispered, "Hey, Hope?"

"Five minutes," he mumbled, nearly incoherent. "Head's too heavy."

"But you'll just…oh, fine."

_I am mush. Reduced to a submissive pile of goop by these boys._

_

* * *

_

The following day was perfect for good intentions – partly cloudy with a chance of rain, and hopefully, success. Serah had already dropped Dajh off for preschool, Hope was getting ready to leave for training with Maqui in the shop again, and she had a promising goal to shoot for.

"Does this look 'professional' to you?" she asked, tugging at the gray, pleated skirt that fell just above her knees. While her button-up uniform blouse hadn't been an issue, the corresponding plaid skirt was too short for her liking.

Laughing, Hope gestured at his baggy, stained coveralls. "In my 'professional' opinion, yes. Maybe my standards are kinda low, though. Why didn't you ask some of the moms in preschool?"

"Because they're all grown women, and I was afraid they might say something like, 'Aww, have they started up a high school, sweetie? Is this your first day?' Ugh! I graduated high school _months_ ago," she snapped, her pride ruffled. After a deep, calming breath, she tried to explain it more objectively.

"Really, I know they mean well, but it's annoying that I don't_ belong _anywhere. I should be around people like Lebreau because of my age, but I need to work with other parents because of Dajh. At least Sis had the military to focus on when she was taking care of me."

As Hope stared at the recliner like it held some mystical truth, she wondered what insight he was about to offer.

_Probably something like, "You really shouldn't care what other people think, anyway," or "It's not like I 'belong' anywhere either – at least you _have _friends your age." Maybe I shouldn't have brought it up. _

"You know," he said finally, "Light wouldn't want you to handle this the same way she did. When she talked about changing her name and forcing herself to be an adult like that, she made it sound like it was this big regret – I think she was afraid that you wouldn't forgive her for being so distant because of her work. Especially not after she didn't believe you were a l'Cie."

_She told you all of this? And she wanted to…apologise? But I'm the _reason_ she got stuck having to grow up so fast, and I _did _ruin her birthday with pretty much unbelievable news._

It was far beyond the cliché advice she had anticipated, and much more difficult to absorb. "Wow," Serah replied, astonished. "I never would've guessed that it got to her so bad. She just seemed really angry, and for good reason – I wouldn't want her to feel guilty about that. But now…" _Now that we could've talked it over, she isn't here for me to make things right._

Serah had frozen where she leaned against the wall, eyes vacant as she brooded. It startled her when Hope took both of her hands, pulling her away from the wall, out of her gloom and into a comforting hug.

"You can tell her when she comes back – don't worry about it right now," he reassured her. When he leaned back, he playfully tugged the ponytail on the side of her head. "But about the whole professional appearance thing…I know something that might work."

She narrowed her eyes in suspicion. "What sort of 'something'?"

"Just trust me."

A few minutes later, Serah regarded the single braid trailing over her shoulder with approval.

"Not sure how or why, but that _does_ make a difference," she remarked.

Hope was about to head out the door, but she caught him squinting a bit painfully in the light of the window when he faced her to wave goodbye. "Yeah, it looks more…_adult_ to me. Guess I did learn something worthwhile in elementary school," he remarked, grinning crookedly.

"Thanks again, Hope, but do you—"

"Anytime. Gotta go, before Maqui comes and drags me off! Good luck!" And he was gone before she could finish.

Sighing, she prepared to leave as well. "Do you need some aspirin?" Serah muttered to herself as an afterthought, grabbing the communicator with the intention of checking up on him later.

* * *

Although Serah had visited the clinic on several occasions before, it amazed her how much the place changed every single time she walked into the waiting area. It seemed that the number of patients filling the space had steeply increased over the last month and a half – not once had she seen the room empty. Clinics were _never _empty.

_I suppose there's a first time for everything._

The absence of hacking, moaning, and grumbling patients in the eerily vacant room should have been a welcomed sign of overall improvement, but it set her on edge. Treading lightly past the rows of unoccupied benches, Serah reached the reception counter and peered through the glass window, half-expecting to see a remaining worker, or at least a notice, that would inform her that the clinic had moved to a new location.

Inside, there was only a short woman with graying hair in a strict bun sorting through a packed cabinet of files.

"Excuse me," Serah called out, tapping on the glass.

The woman's head snapped up. "Yes?" Her voice was muffled but intelligible as it came through the opening in the window, and she briefly scrutinized Serah over her spectacles before she asked, "How may I help you?"

"Oh, I was-I was just wondering," Serah said nervously, "if there are any available positions to umm, work here. I mean, I don't really have previous experience, but I could train – I'm a fast learner."

Removing her glasses to clean them, the woman shook her head and smiled ruefully. "That _would _be the case, wouldn't it? What's your name, dear?"

"Serah Farron," she answered, perplexed at the expression and response. "May I ask who_ you_ are?"

"Oh, everyone just calls me Miss Ann. I didn't mean to confuse you, but you see, your timing couldn't have been more perfect _and_ terrible."

_So much for trying_ not_ to confuse me._

Serah raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"Well," Ann explained, "the clinic is certainly in need of help – _hurting_ for it, in fact. But right now, with so many patients being quarantined in the research facility, there isn't much the current staff can do for anyone. Many of them don't really know how to effectively treat the group in quarantine themselves, much less how to train an apprentice to do it. And bless their hearts, two of the nurses came down with the infection themselves, so the clinic is closed the rest of this week for sterilization. I was just looking through some of the case files that need to be transferred."

"O-oh, I see." Serah was stunned speechless at the scope of what had previously just been haunting rumors about a handful of people with some mysterious infection. When she came back to her senses, she saw that Ann was already heading through the side door of the reception office.

"Wait! Can I at least help you with something, while I'm here?" she called.

_Surely this wasn't just a waste of time._

As Ann rounded the corner with her stack of files, she tilted her head and took a good look at Serah. "Persistent, aren't we? I suppose if you're dead-set on getting trained, there's no harm in showing you a few basic procedures once the clinic reopens next Monday. I'd start today, but all my equipment is locked in here."

"You mean you're—"

"Yes," Ann interjected. "I'm a doctor. I suppose I do look like a receptionist, but when you drop by next week, I'll be scrubbed out and ready to help you along."

Thrilled at the prospect, despite feeling a bit foolish, Serah stammered, "S-sure, that would be wonderful – and I umm, apologise for just assuming something like that. How late will you want me to stay? Just so I can make arrangements."

"My, aren't you the busy girl," Ann remarked, brows raised as she adjusted her glasses. "I'll train you for however long your parents can spare you, I suppose. Is that workable?"

Serah felt her face burn from the repressed irritation, but she knew that Ann meant well, and she refused to lose such an opportunity over the doctor's honest mistake. She took a deep breath.

"Actually, I'm on my own, so I'll just work my schedule around my other responsibilities. I'll stay as long as you're willing to train me."

"That's fine. It's your prerogative," Ann responded coolly, but a hint of curiosity crossed her features. "I'll see you at seven o'clock on Monday, bright and early."

* * *

It was still mid-morning when Serah headed home from the clinic, her excitement over the apprenticeship only kept in check by the somewhat gloomy rainclouds above and the whir of obsessive planning going through her mind.

_When I start, Hope can pick Dajh up from preschool and watch him till I get home, I guess, I'll just have to make sure Maqui doesn't extend his hours in the shop like he said before…but who am I to say that Hope's training is less important than mine? What will he say? And what if Dajh feels like he's being abandoned?_

Rather than go straight back to the shelter, she stopped by the warehouse complex and wandered into NORA's workshop, intent on finding Maqui and ironing out a schedule, as well as getting Hope's actual opinion instead of anxiously speculating.

Maqui's legs were sticking out from under a velocycle on blocks, so she rushed over and tugged on his boot. "Maqui!" she called over the sound of the drill he was using, and he shut off the tool, scooting his way out and lifting the face-shield.

"What the— What are you doing _here_?" he asked, with a different emphasis than expected in the casual question. He honestly looked concerned.

"It's not like I don't come by pretty often," she replied defensively. "Seriously, are you _that_ afraid I've come to take your new playmate away?"

Getting to his feet and dusting himself off, Maqui glowered at her. "I _prefer_ the term 'apprentice,' thanks, and he's already yours for the day, Miss Wannabe Nurse – yeah, he told me about that. Hope went home with a headache or something like twenty minutes ago."

_Oh. I can't believe I forgot. Maybe it was_ _a migraine._

"Sorry to bug you, then – I'd better go," she said distractedly, striding toward the exit before Maqui had a chance to fire off another cocky response.

* * *

Their room was empty. The only indicators telling Serah that Hope had been there were the open medicine cabinet and his discarded bandana on top of the dresser.

_Where would he have gone? _

From what Maqui had said, he didn't seem to have any intention of returning to the shop for the day, so she concluded that the only other place he might have gone to was the washroom. It was worth a look, and she set out immediately.

Cracking open the men's room door to peek in and make sure the coast was clear, Serah noted that none of the showers or toilets were in use, to her dismay. It was a dead end.

"Where else even makes _sense_ to check?" she wondered aloud, leaning against the wall across from the female washroom. Moments later, Tavi came up the stairwell and waved at her from down the hall.

"Hey," Serah greeted, walking toward her as she waved in return. "Is the second floor washroom backed up again?"

Tavi seemed to be in a bit of a hurry to get to her destination. "Yeah, go figure," she said with a laugh as she rushed by, but she stopped abruptly at the washroom door and asked, "Is something wrong? You look a little out of it."

"Actually, yes," Serah admitted. "I can't find Hope, and I'm not sure where else to look. You haven't seen him, have you?"

"Not since yesterday, but I'll keep an eye out. Sometimes the best thing to do is just wait for them to come to you, so I'd go back to the room and have some tea. Doesn't do any good to get all worked up."

_Solid advice. Maybe I should follow it._ "Thanks," Serah said, smiling forcibly on her way to the room. "I'll do that." She knew that Hope would appreciate coming home to hot tea, and it could have the added effect of calming her frazzled nerves.

Not ten steps later, a high-pitched scream from behind her shattered the fragile moment of reassurance and sent chills down her spine. She instantly turned on her heels and ran back to the women's room, swinging the door wide.

"Tavi!" she called, shaking the woman who seemed to be fused with the inside wall next to the door, her hand covering her mouth as she stared forward, paralyzed with shock. "Tavi, what—"

Serah's voice was sucked into the void when she looked toward the sinks. She had found Hope – and almost wished she hadn't. Choking down the urge to scream, or throw up, or otherwise panic, she moved her feet toward the scene.

From the rusty smear on the edge of the counter above where he lay in a heap, and the blood pooling underneath his head, a small part of what had transpired was clear. What Serah could not discern – and it made her dizzy with fear to even consider it – was whether he had, in fact, _vomited_ blood, or if all the blood was from a head wound and the vomiting had happened first. Either way, both fluids were absolutely everywhere, matted in his hair and creeping along the lines of grout between the tiles. Her own blood rushed in her ears, and she got down on her hands and knees, the tip of her braid slapping the surface of the puddle. She wanted to pass out.

"Hope, please…"

_No… NO…I can't fall apart. How could I even _think_ about being a medic like this?_

Forcing her shaking hand to find the pulse beneath his jaw, she leaned down to feel and observe that his breathing was not obstructed – he was _alive_. Serah pushed every other thought aside, doing her best to blank her mind completely.

Somehow, through the haze of panic, she knew her first priority was to stop the bleeding. Gingerly lifting his head, she located an oozing gash on the left side – clearly the source. Rather than waste precious time on a frantic search for the necessary items, she removed her left shoe, stripped off the stocking and stretched the fabric to wrap it over the wound and around his head as many times as possible, tying it securely on the side. The hem of her skirt was beginning to soak up blood from the floor as she knelt, and the air she took in reeked of it, but she closed her eyes, breathed through her mouth and focused.

"Tavi, I-I need – I need you to get some towels," she said, finding her voice, and the teacher jumped at the sudden command, but otherwise did not move. "Please, I need you to go _now_!" Shaking her head clear and blinking rapidly, Tavi finally nodded, clumsily bumping into the door as she rushed to leave.

Almost immediately, Serah frantically pulled the communicator from her pocket to contact Maqui, starting a phone tree that reached all the way to the Guardian Corps' upper echelon of command. With the clinic closed for the next four days and the fear that any PSICOM resources would do more harm than good, the only thing she had been able to do was give them the first name of the doctor she had met, though it was far less useful than a surname would have been. Working with that, Lieutenant Baralai contacted subordinates with access to civilian records of temporary residency, trying to find leads.

In the end, just when Serah had taken advantage of the lull to drag Hope from the disgusting mess in which he lay, Maqui called back to inform her that they had dispatched a small squadron to track Ann down. Tavi returned shortly after with a stack of towels and a mop.

"Don't worry about this," Serah said in an absolutely lifeless voice to the still-trembling woman, once she had set the implements on the floor nearby. "Take a few deep breaths, and go back to class – the students will be upset, and I'm sure whoever's watching them is wondering where you are."

Hovering over Hope with her clothing stained in dark blotches or streaks and her fingernails caked with blood – blood that had also smeared onto her exposed leg and the tightly-clutched communicator in her hand – she was a sight to behold.

Tavi looked down from the scene guiltily, but she conceded. "Al-Alright. But I'll watch Dajh for you, however long this takes." She left without another word.

Once again alone with the smell of blood and fear, Serah promptly ran to the toilet, threw up, and got back to work.

"Okay, you can do this," she breathed to herself before kneeling down again to remove Hope's shoes, soiled coveralls and t-shirt, and finally hooking her arms under his. She strained against the weight to lift him onto one of the towels, using it to pull him most of the way into the nearest shower stall before she tossed the towel out of the splash zone, turned on the water, and grabbed a bar of soap. Cleaning him up was a tricky maneuver that got her soaked from head to toe – her neck ached from bending and she felt her knees bruising on the tile, but those pains were negligible. She barely even registered them. The thin, pinkish ribbons snaking out of his hair toward the drain were a distracting sign of progress as they gradually faded clear.

_Maybe it's not much help right now, but I can't let you wake up like this, not covered in your own…_no_._

Once they were both outside the shower, Serah's arms and legs began to shake intermittently from the exertion as she wrapped Hope securely in the towel. It was amazing how challenging it had been for her to maneuver the dead weight of even a thin boy, and she folded down to the floor, supporting his head on her lap to check the makeshift bandage. The bleeding had been kept at bay, to her relief. But closer inspection drew her attention to his emotionless face, flushed and burning with fever, and she felt her nose tingle and eyes well up with tears of frustration. It seemed impossible for things to get any worse, despite her efforts.

_What am I going to do with you? Snow or Sis, or _anyone_ else could have had you back in the room by now, and I can barely drag you a few steps! I'm not even strong enough for _that_._

The minutes stretched on silently as a suffocating dread closed in around her – an insurmountable, invisible barrier. She had felt that way before, years ago on that fateful morning her mother had collapsed in the kitchen, and her mind continued to stray to that moment. To how she had knelt in the floor, shaken her mother's unresponsive form, stroked her hair and cried for Lightning…

When Gadot finally arrived, charging into the washroom with the rest of NORA in tow, it was as if their presence hit the purge valve to bleed off the pressure of those painful memories and present fears, and Serah choked out a sob.

"Help… _help_ me," she pleaded, little hiccups breaking her simple words. "I can't…can't…"

Not that the request was necessary. Gadot had already assessed the situation and hefted Hope off of her before she finished a single coherent sentence, and she felt Lebreau encircle her from behind, murmuring words of comfort – something to the effect of "It's okay, we've got this," not that Serah really paid any mind to what was being said. She watched Maqui follow Gadot out as they left with Hope, her red-rimmed eyes not leaving the door.

_I need to move. Why can't I move? Work, legs, _work!

"Come on, Serah, we need to get you some dry clothes. You wouldn't want Hope to see you like this when he wakes up, right?" She turned her head toward the familiar words coming through Yuj's voice, and the next thing she knew, he and Lebreau had lifted her to her feet. A wave of burning shame washed over her at her own helplessness.

_Why can't I escape these situations? And will I ever be able to handle them on my own? I'm just…such a burden. _


	4. What it means

**A/N: I realise that the 'cliffhanger' force was removed in the last chapter, by virtue of the fact that this is a prequel – in any case, here's the rest of that line of events :D Sorry it's a good twelve hours later than my usual post, but my husband is here for a visit (tends to delay everything, surprise surprise)! Thanks again to all the reviewers so far, and I would LOVE to see reviews from the many 'Favoriters' out there so I can make subsequent chapters even better ;-) And for today, we have one lone term:**

***Blue Falcon – a commonly tossed-around military euphemism for the even more prevalent phrase 'Buddy F***er' (tends to come out when one's 'buddy' passes off his responsibility, or otherwise throws one under the bus). Now you've been schooled :P**

Disclaimer: Oh Squeenix, how you can milk profits on a game series…obviously I'm working for free (actually, that could become literal with what's in the NEWS right now! Stupid politicians…)

What it means (to bleed)

The small apartment was packed, even more so once Private Lucil's team arrived with the doctor they had sought out.

"Well, I wish I could say I've never seen _this_ before," Ann said, her expression grave after a mere five minutes of observation and information-gathering. "Particularly because of what you told me, Miss Farron."

Serah was still in limbo as she sat on the edge of the bed holding onto Hope's hand, both relieved and anxious since the doctor's arrival. "What do you mean? What part of it?"

Clearing her throat, Ann explained, "You said he stumbled into the ladies' room, and proceeded to run into the sinks. Obviously, he would have intended to do exactly the opposite – turn into the men's room and then to the toilets. It suggests a very specific directional disorientation, and it wouldn't be the first case of its kind. Anomalies like this are the very reason the new infection has been so difficult to treat, even in quarantine – they have no precedent from Cocoon. Combined with every other symptom, it's clear that he's caught more than a simple virus."

_So _that's _what it is, then? He's come back from crystalstasis, only to end up like this? They'll take him away, until…until…_

She could see her mother's cold, white hospital room in her mind's eye, the slow wait for a recovery that never came.

All eyes in the room snapped to Ann, disbelieving.

"You've gotta be kidding," Maqui muttered, pressing the heel of his palm into his forehead in frustration. "Next you're gonna say we have to turn him over to that PSICOM-run quarantine facility, right? That's just _perfect_."

The doctor tweaked an eyebrow. "If you want him treated properly,_ yes_, though I can't see why it's such a distasteful option to you, young man. The faster he gets help, the better. You've no idea the severity of this infection."

"Then we're going with him," Lucil immediately responded. "For your information, PSICOM's got it in for this kid – they've already given him plenty of crap for being a l'Cie before! There's gotta be a way we can keep an eye on him, even in quarantine."

Unflinching, Ann's response was simple. "Absolutely not. You all run the risk of infection as it is." The short woman crossed her arms with finality, glancing over to Serah's stricken face, and continued with the directive. "Besides, if this really has turned into some military squabble, adding a Guardian Corps presence would only draw attention to him and increase his chances of maltreatment, or worse. So for his sake and yours, _no_."

"But if none of us are _there_, how can we even know one way or the other?" the red-head fumed, fists stubbornly clenched at her sides as if to hold back a more explosive response.

Ann sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose as she said stiffly, "I am respected by a number of colleagues in the facility, and I have unrestricted access to most rooms and patient records. If _I_ can't keep an eye on him and cover his identity, it was a lost cause to begin with. Is that clear?"

Apparently, no one could come up with a ready reply to that rational conclusion. Serah had been sitting quietly by, but the thought of shipping him off alone into the unknown was unbearable.

"I_ have_ to go with him," she said, quiet but firm. "He's _my _responsibility."

Though Ann's face had softened with understanding and sympathy, her mouth opened to protest once again. Her eyes flew wide in surprise when practically every other person in the room jumped in first.

"No way, Serah! We have these anti-association measures in place for everyone's safety, especially _yours_," Gadot said, deeper voice booming over the others'. He fixed her with an understanding gaze, but the rigid set of his jaw meant finality.

"You've_ got_ to stay off their l'Cie radar. Hope would say the same thing."

Caught in the middle and entirely unsure which would be the less selfish action for her to take, Serah finally stumbled upon the realization that it wasn't _about _her. She took one look at Hope, who was unable to voice whatever pain he might have been suffering through, and went straight for practicality.

"You're right, so just-just get him help," she stammered, "as fast as you can, before it gets any worse, or…or…"

_Or I lose my nerve._

"Go. Take him _now_." She squeezed Hope's hand once and got off the bed, marching purposefully across the room to open the door and hold it wide. Her gaze hit the floor and stayed there. It felt as though a stone hung from her neck, forcing it to bow.

Ann walked over and placed a hand on her shoulder. "I'll keep you informed on his progress. And no matter what happens, I expect to see you at the clinic on Monday – don't be late."

There was little anyone else could say. As they passed by, carrying Hope out the door, Serah forced her eyes shut in resolution.

_The next time I see you, you'll open your eyes. You have to. You _will_._

She could hear the roar of the velocycles starting up and speeding into the distance shortly after. Though a couple of her friends had remained in the room with her, surrounding and trying to comfort her with voices that buzzed like static in the background, she knew they would eventually leave out of necessity, go back to work and support the settlement. Life went on. People moved on.

_I just wait._

She had never felt so alone in the waiting.

* * *

Four empty days and five restless nights went by about as quickly as dragging a boulder cross-country through mud, despite the daily updates from Ann via NORA's communicator network that preserved her sanity. Even so, they did pass.

On that fifth morning, Dajh could tell something was up. Of course, she had given him the dumbed-down version of the situation – that Hope was sick and at the clinic – while keeping her fears locked up tight. But children had an interesting knack for feeling tension in the air, and the bags under Serah's eyes did nothing to detract him from such perception. That and he seemed to recognise her freshly-laundered – and, thanks to Lebreau, thoroughly stain-treated – work outfit. She hadn't worn it since the day Hope left, and as she put it on she had shuddered at the sight of a practically invisible, faded blood splotch within the pleats of the skirt.

"Are ya goin' somewhere today Serah? Is Hope there?" he asked anxiously, bouncing on his feet. "I made him a new picture, so you gotta give it to him and tell him to come home now!"

It was difficult to give a collected response to his childlike request. "I-I'll take it to him Dajh, and of course I'll tell him, but he might… be too sick to come home just yet. You wouldn't want to get sick too, would you?"

Dajh's bushy eyebrows crinkled up as he thought it over, and then he said easily, "Nah, he didn't make me sick last time. And anyway, you gotta stop sayin' weird stuff and crying when you sleep. You didn't do that when he was here. I don't _like_ it." Pouting, he scooped up his favorite stuffed animal from the floor – the colorful, patchwork souvenir from Nautilus – and squeezed it.

_Well, that settles it. I'm a total wreck in the eyes of a six-year-old, of all people._

Slumping against the wall, she sighed heavily. "Sorry about that Dajh. I'll do better. Promise." She gave him a little smile, and asked with as much enthusiasm as she could muster, "Now, let's take a look at your new masterpiece!"

* * *

When Serah imagined the quarantine research facility in her mind, she saw nothing but a massive, white room filled with neat rows of patients in sick beds and unidentifiable medical equipment. Aside from the pervasive smell of sterilizing chemicals, the place to which Ann had taken her was entirely different.

For one, the walls were a cold, gunmetal gray.

"It's like a maze," she said in bewilderment as they wove their way between numerous sectioned-off spaces. Several of the lab entrances bore red warning markers and whiteboards with lists of patients' names and scribbled notes.

Her head snapped back to the bun of the doctor leading her around. "Why are there so many separate rooms, if everyone's in quarantine for the same infection?"

"Oh, there are plenty of reasons, dear," Ann explained. "For one, we still aren't certain how the infection spreads, so further separation could possibly be preventing that. More importantly, by grouping the patients based on unique symptoms exhibited, or by the stage of the infection they are believed to be going through, it's easier to treat each individual more effectively and monitor trends among small groups. For example, the handful of relapse cases need intensive care, and their treatment is still quite ineffective. In this situation, medical care and experimental research _must_ occur simultaneously – there is no 'waiting' for lab results to yield an effective treatment, because there is limited time."

_Relapse? This thing isn't just cured, somehow?_

Unwilling to interrupt the doctor, and afraid to expose her naivety, Serah kept her mouth shut.

"Ah. Here we are," Ann announced as they turned left into a room that looked, to Serah, no different than any of the others. "Now, we've been over this – you mustn't look surprised or affected by what you see in this lab, alright? Your training starts today, and I thought it best to kill two birds with one stone, rather than make you wait. That's the only reason you're coming in here with me, despite my better judgment. Consider it a favor."

To the untrained ear, it could have been any experienced doctor talking to her newbie intern who got the privilege of hands-on training from day one, but Serah knew the real reason for the cautionary word.

He was lying in the bed not ten meters to her right.

"I-I understand," she stammered, wondering if the effort to _not_ look surprised might simply make her more conspicuous.

As they approached, she could see that Hope was unresponsive to their presence, hooked up to a number of machines that meant little to her – he was simply asleep, though, considering the report that he had regained consciousness two days before.

_He looks so pale…I wonder if he still has a fever._

Reaching out instinctively to feel for herself, she immediately retracted her hand – that would have been far too uncharacteristic of a non-related medic-in-training. Instead, she looked elsewhere and recognised the IV and heart monitor from when her mother had been in the hospital, but the other equipment was completely unfamiliar. It gave her something to focus on.

Zoning in on her curiosity, Ann handed her a clipboard with a notepad and pencil. "You're going to need this. But first, let's review our patient's file, shall we?"

"Of course," Serah said with a nod, balling her empty hand into a tight fist and raising it decisively. The doctor wore an amused expression as she passed the slim file over to her.

Flipping open the cover, Serah skimmed down the patient profile sheet. "Kai… Villiers?" she blurted in confusion, turning the heads of a couple of nurses nearby. She blushed at the sudden attention, but immediately covered the error.

"I uh, have a cousin named Kai who sort of looks like this kid. Wrong last name, though."

_Well, she's certainly delivering on the cover-up end of things. Even a fake name. Snow would laugh his head off._

Ann just shook her head at the incident, moving to hover beside Serah's shoulder and point out several pages and sections of the file that were of particular importance.

"Symptoms, vitals, treatments and times administered…anything you need to know is listed on these few pages of charts. It's essentially a record of every step taken toward the patient's recovery, and it is imperative that you never forget to log any change in a patient's status, no matter how insignificant it seems," she explained. "That kind of attention to detail is what saves lives when something goes inexplicably wrong or when nothing seems to be working, and all a doctor has to go on is the written history."

Once the mini-speech ended, Serah's eyes scanned the profile page again. She pulled the pencil from its holder on the clipboard and erased something on the page.

"In that case, this should be fixed."

In neat, curvy script, she wrote the number "15" in the age block. The doctor rolled her eyes behind her glasses and smiled.

* * *

For the rest of the day, Serah studiously wrote down any and all words that came from Ann's mouth as they made the rounds of the facility, visiting patients in multiple quarantine rooms to oversee and consult with the many nurses and handful of other supervising doctors on the daytime shift. Pages and pages of the notepad were filled with shorthand descriptions of every conceivable piece of equipment with which she would need to familiarize herself in the coming days. And when given random side-note tips here and there, she adjusted her organized note-taking system to keep them tidily in the margins.

_I wonder if university would have been like this, in the labs… Maybe now, with this training, I can still do something useful. I can _fit_ here._

She had no idea how much time had passed, but it went practically at light speed as she eagerly digested the information and learned about the tools that would help her save people…and save Hope. Serah barely noticed when the shift turnover began, so absorbed was she in reviewing the notes after they had returned to Ann's primary room of responsibility, the number 5 lab; the doctor finally called her attention to it.

"You know…the sedatives I gave him should have worn off by now, and we really ought to wake him for a bit," Ann hinted as she scribbled a note on Hope's chart before closing the file. "I can guarantee you've got a good five minutes before the new shift takes over, so I see no harm in a little visit. I'll be at the file cabinet near the door, just in case."

Abruptly flipping her notepad shut, Serah lifted blue eyes filled with gratitude and turned them to the sleeping boy just left of where she stood against the wall. "Thank you. I promise I won't take too long."

She sat carefully on the edge of the bed to assess the situation. While she had been gathering bits and pieces of information about Hope's technical status from all the notes in his file, it was the first time Serah had really gotten a good look at him. Obviously, the dressing she had originally used on his head wound had been removed, and when she sifted her fingers through his hair to check the area, she found that the gash had already begun to heal around a row of tiny stitches.

"Oh good…" she breathed in relief, and Hope stirred, though she was unsure whether it had been the physical contact or her voice that woke him.

He was clearly groggy from the drug-induced sleep, and she smiled in spite of herself at the familiarity as he scrubbed at his eyes, blinking rapidly to focus, and then held a hand up to block the lamp shining above.

_He is so _not _a morning person._

"Serah? They said you…weren't supposed to come here," he mumbled in a gravelly voice, still fighting to keep his cloudy green eyes open.

"I know," she said quietly, trying to be mindful of the time limit and situation, "but I'm here training with Miss Ann, the doctor over there." She pointed across the room of several other unconscious patients lying in their beds, and Ann waved at them.

Hope smiled slightly in recognition, but the way his brow scrunched up in pain suggested that all was far from well. "Yeah, she's been taking care of me, and she's-she's_ almost_ as good as you. I really hate that you got stuck with this…such a crappy way to start your new job." He gave up blocking the light and let his arm fall to the covers, lacking the energy to keep it up, much less hold a solid conversation just yet. But while he was still coherent, Serah had to squeeze in as much pertinent information as possible.

"Hey, if it hadn't been for your idea, we all would've been up a creek! Plus I found the perfect person to train with, and I'm getting tons of experience. But for now, even though Ann let me come here with her – and I hate this, believe me, it's just – nobody can know that we know each other," she said, her voice automatically hushed. "It's an important precaution. You understand why."

For a fleeting moment, he looked crestfallen. But he put on a serious face and said bravely, "I get it – I mean, I'm really glad you could come at all. And I won't screw this up, not on my life." Suddenly wincing, he brought both hands to his temples and rolled onto his side.

"How-how do you feel, now?" Serah asked in a low, anxious voice.

As a particularly sharp wave of pain hit him, he groaned and brought his knees up to rest his forehead against them, curling into a ball. "Like my head-my head's full of fireworks. They keep popping and popping and it just won't_ stop_."

_What I wouldn't give to fix this… Is there _anything _I can do right now?_

From a medical standpoint, she knew it was a lost cause. He was on enough medications as it was, and the most she could hope to do with next to no practical training was to reassure him, and maybe distract him from the pain.

Pulling Dajh's picture from her bag, she held it in front of Hope's face with one hand and carefully stroked his hair with the other. "I wish I could make it stop, I _really_ wish that was how it worked…but I think Dajh has about as good a chance as I do right now. Look – he sent a drawing to help you get better so you can come home."

When he opened his eyes again, still scrunched up from the pressure behind them, the last thing Serah expected to hear was a strained, but genuine, laugh come from his mouth.

"Oh _no_," he began, cutting off in a barely repressed whimper of pain. "The kid's gone and – _nnngh _– given my dad a-a mustache!" Lifting a hand to point at the offending object, Hope continued to laugh in spite of the ache it caused. "There, see?"

She knew it was quite possible that Dajh assumed _all _fathers had a mustache because_ his_ did, but she was none the wiser about Hope's father in any case – she'd thought nothing of it when Dajh handed over his picture.

_Can't say I remember if _my_ dad had one._

Taking a second look anyway at Hope's insistence, she gently pulled his hand out of the way and held onto it as she teased, "You mean _your_ dad doesn't have the dad-stache? For shame!"

Hope chuckled roughly, but his smile began to falter. "Hey, it's my fault… for not telling him when he asked what Dad was like," he commented, pressing his free hand to his head and intermittently biting his lip to stifle a stronger reaction to the pain. "Things like 'he wears glasses', and 'he always looks like he's headed for a meeting', and a lot of things I could've said if I hadn't been so-so—"

"Serah!" Ann called from across the room, her voice low but insistent. "Time's up! I need you to come handle these files for me."

She quickly jumped off the edge of the bed, giving Hope's hand a squeeze and leaning down to whisper in haste, "Sorry, but we'll talk more tomorrow – same time. You _are_ going to feel better soon, okay? I'm personally seeing to it."

_And I will not fail._

"Okay." He smiled weakly and shoved the drawing underneath his pillow, all too aware of his incriminating real name above Dajh's cartoonish image of him. Clumsily scrawled on the paper in green letters, the large, inconsistent 'h-O-p-E' was better left unseen.

* * *

It was the fastest, most emotionally trying month of Serah's life. But somehow, somewhere between the worrying and studying and making arrangements for Dajh while she was gone most of the day _every_ day, she survived. Hope gradually began to respond to the new antiviral treatments after that first week, only suffering the occasional spell of headaches, though Serah remained concerned at the amount of weight he seemed to continue losing during the ordeal.

The Tuesday of that fifth week, Serah walked in as always, prepared for another routine day of training. But as soon as she reached the entrance to the number 5 lab, Ann suddenly pulled her aside.

"Miss Serah, I know you're serious about this training, but I must say – I'm surprised to see you this morning. Didn't you get word that I released him from quarantine yesterday evening?" she asked quietly, disbelieving. At Serah's nonplussed expression, she elaborated, "He was moved to the out-processing quadrant last night to be picked up by his escort first thing. Obviously you're welcome to stay, but I see no harm in a day off, just this once."

She was thrown for a loop. "Why didn't anyone _tell _me? And-and I thought— I mean, you said those antiviral treatments had been really inconsistent, and what if he ends up—"

"Relapsing?" the doctor finished, casually stuffing a few case files in her bag. "If it happens, it happens. There's no predicting it, but the few relapses we've seen all occurred at_ least_ several weeks after the initial infection, so I feel safe in telling you that there's time – time to use_ wisely_ by continuing your training and learning more about the research, not to waste worrying over that boy's condition every hour of the day. Keep that in mind."

Fighting the urge to pout or protest, Serah focused down on her hands and allowed her brain to process a more mature response. "Thank you," she replied evenly. "I don't know what we would have done without you…and you're right. I'll be back at the clinic tomorrow morning, for more instruction."

"Good. Eight o'clock this time though. Have some breakfast for once." Ann started to head further down the hall, but paused and turned back to Serah, handing her a thick folder of paperwork and explaining in a quick, furtive voice, "I took the liberty of making copies of his chart. These are yours, should there be any…'issues' in the future with file tampering or other interference. Let's just say I felt the need to be suspicious."

Serah simply nodded and took the file, mind racing as she left the facility. If Ann was concerned about PSICOM, despite all their trouble to prevent Hope's exposure, extra precautions would need to be taken to ensure that he didn't attract any more attention.

_He is _not_ going to like this._

She had just set foot on the street when her communicator buzzed, and she hastily dug through her bag to pull it out and flip it open.

"Hey Serah!" Maqui shouted over the static. "I brought Hope back to the shop – his request. You should head over here, like, five minutes ago!" She had no idea why he hadn't told her about Hope's release ahead of time, and it rubbed her the wrong way.

"What do you mean, _five minutes_ ago? No one told me _anything_ before I got to the quarantine facility!"

The teen's voice instantly dropped a few notches in attitude. "Oh, right, well it's just…we were kind of in a hurry, and I didn't find out until like_ midnight_ so I didn't think…I mean, he thought it would be a bad idea to— Ugh, forget it. Anyway, I'll send Lucil over to pick you up in the velo, okay?"

_What on Pulse is going on?_

"Fine," she replied, still bitter about being left out of the loop, with suspicion to boot. "I'll be outside the west entrance."

One tense, silent ride on the velocycle later – with the occasional uncomfortable glance back from Lucil, who thankfully seemed just as clueless as she – Serah pushed open the side-door and marched into the shop with a vengeance.

The place seemed deserted. She and Lucil looked near the velocycle on blocks, in the back room, and behind each and every crate or stray engine part lying around the large, open warehouse, but no one seemed to be around.

"Where _is_ everyone?" she asked herself absently.

Lucil spoke up from behind. "I think there's a meeting this morning over in building 9, but I'm pretty sure Maqui wasn't going – that and his velo is parked outside of _this_ shop."

_Odd. What is that crazy guy _up_ to?_

Suddenly, Serah heard muffled voices coming from the far, shadowy corner, behind a line of metal storage lockers. "There's a room back there?"

Lucil shrugged, and the two of them headed across the shop toward the sound.

As they approached and the voices became clearer, Serah could easily tell that Maqui _was _back there, speaking to someone. From his tone, it almost sounded like he was trying to calm whoever-it-was down. In any case, he wasn't yelling, and he wasn't being sarcastic.

_I don't like this. It's just…off._

The other person's voice, though quieter and more indistinct when it came out, had to be Hope's.

Rather than interrupt, and in light of being purposely 'left out' for some reason before, Serah decided to press her ear to the door and listen, and she motioned for Lucil to do the same. She was on pins and needles with anxiety over the seriousness of their conversation, particularly when Hope stopped mumbling and spoke louder.

"Why did you _call_ her, Maqui?" he asked, the desperation clear. "I can't tell her about this – she doesn't need to know! That's why I asked you_ not_ to call her in the_ first _place! I just hoped you could pass on the important parts and let the GC's handle it."

_Whatever this is…concerns the _military? _PSICOM…_

The reply came out a bit sharp. "Yeah, I _got _that. But do you honestly think she isn't gonna squeeze it out of you eventually? Trust me, she _will_, and I say the sooner she knows, the better – she really cares about you, Hope. What I _don't _get is why you wanted to tell _me_ about it."

A pause. Serah held her breath through the silence, and didn't dare release it until she heard Hope respond, "So let her find out. Until then, at least she can have a little peace – I've been nothing but a burden since I got here. The _last _thing she needs is something else to worry about."

_You think _you're_ a burden? I never said that, never even…well, I suppose I did _think_ that, just that first day, but I was being an idiot. I didn't even know you._

There was a slight shuffling sound as he must have changed position on the floor, before he continued. "I swear, if I have to see that sad look on her face one more day, staring at me like I'm some wounded puppy that got hit by a velo and left on the side of the road, I'm gonna just…ugh, I don't know, curl up and die maybe. Before I caught this stupid infection, she treated me like an _equal_, like we were partners in fighting the l'Cie stigma, or_ something_ important, you know? For a while there I actually believed that she needed me around. As if _anyone_ does _now_…" His voice had become gradually softer until it faded out entirely for a few moments.

When he spoke up again, it was to address the second point. "And for the record," he snapped, "I wanted to tell _you_ because I _trust _you, and I thought you could keep it to yourself. I was so nervous I could barely _eat_, having to keep my mouth shut for three weeks!"

_What _happened_, Hope? What's so awful and secret that you can't tell _me?

Deep down, she knew that whatever it was had to be something dangerous, or otherwise perceived as a source of pain or harm to her – it wouldn't have been the first time he'd kept such things to himself. But she _always_ found out. It baffled her as to why he would even bother with the effort.

"Well, I _still_ say you could've just told Ann to pass it over the comms from the get-go," Maqui finally countered, sounding a tad uncomfortable. "And I don't know when you got it in your head that I'm 'trustworthy' or whatever. I'm your trainer, not your _confidant_, Ladyboy."

In direct defiance of the general mood so far, Hope laughed out loud. "First of all, you _know_ why I couldn't tell Ann – I made it pretty clear why I couldn't tell _anyone_. And secondly, you are _full _of it. Guess I just 'imagined' that you let me take a spin on the velo before, _and_ let me borrow your goggles…even though you never let _anyone_ touch those. Forgive me for reading into that, O Master Mechanic."

"Oh shut it! That was for training purposes!" Maqui protested vehemently. "But if you _ever_ tell Serah, I swear…"

_Okay, I've officially missed the ship on this conversation._

They had obviously veered off topic, and her nerves were about to produce visible sparks if she didn't get answers. Straightening up from her position against the door, Serah shoved it wide and fixed Hope with a look that was two parts desperate concern and one part inconceivable frustration.

"What. Are. You. _Hiding_?" she enunciated, the sheer intensity behind her quiet voice electrifying the tiny storage room and freezing both boys on the spot. Hope looked like he'd seen a ghost, and he automatically backed against the wall where he sat, drawing his knees in protectively when she took another step into the room.

His wide green eyes were like windows blown open to his soul – she just wished that his soul would tell her more about the facts and less about his feelings in that particular moment. What was coming through was something to the effect of _How did she find me? Does she hate me? Is she going to _make_ me talk? What am I going to say? I'm trapped! I'm trapped and she makes me think of…I mean she looks so much like…"_

Some parts were indiscernible, as always. In the flash of time it took for her to see all of Hope's panic and fear, Maqui had also pulled his dangling legs up onto the crate on which he sat, cowering back from the edge.

"Whoa there, Serah – you're gonna make the poor kid piss his pants. Those are _my _coveralls!" Clearly, he had also seen the look on Hope's face.

_Bold talk for the guy hiding on top of a crate._

Hope had yet to speak, and she couldn't stand to keep holding his gaze with all those blasted emotions crashing over her like waves. Instead, she looked down at his hands where they clasped tightly in front of his knees.

That was a mistake.

Even from a few meters away, she could see how bony they had become, and how he somehow managed to fill out the baggy coveralls even less than before – how the fabric crumpled and folded over itself against his legs and hung off his shoulders uselessly. As she looked back at his face, it was visibly more drawn, which explained how his eyes had somehow managed to look larger and more terrified than she would have guessed possible, and she instantly returned to looking at his hands instead. Perhaps it was seeing him in his actual clothes for the first time in _weeks_ that made the change suddenly so pronounced.

To make matters worse, when Hope followed her eyes to where they had landed, he jumped and self-consciously tucked his hands underneath his knees in a rush.

It stabbed her like a thousand needles in the chest.

"Hope," she said, on the verge of tears, "I'm sorry, I really _do_ need to know…" With slow steps, she moved closer and sat down beside him against the wall, wrapping him in a hug. Actually feeling the bones of his shoulders jutting out was more than she could stand, and she cried in earnest – let the anguish take form and run down onto his neck, soaking the collar of his shirt.

_PSICOM did something to you – caused this, somehow. I don't know how, but this is worse – it's more than just some side-effect of the infection. Please…_tell_ me._

"Stop crying, Serah, _please_, it's not…" he mumbled, sounding at a bit of a loss. "It's not…_that _bad, really. I mean, I did eat breakfast today…" She still couldn't bring herself to look up, but felt his hand pat the top of her head sympathetically.

Serah reached up to wipe her face, ashamed at having made his already trying ordeal even worse – ashamed that she lacked the capacity to keep things to herself when it really counted. Finally sitting up and leaning back against the wall, she pulled her arms close and drew in a shaky breath, pouring every ounce of effort into calming down.

Sniffing loudly, she managed to reply, "Right…you're right, and I'm okay – I'm okay now. But if you don't tell me what happened, I'm going to go _nuts_ worrying about it, and then I'll just end up torturing Maqui until _he_ tells me."

"Well in that case," Hope began, cracking the tiniest of smiles as he looked up toward the crate across from him, "tough luck, man. Maybe she'll go easy on you."

To Serah's surprise, Maqui looked legitimately put-off. "_What?_ Are you seriously…whatever." Then she heard him mumble to himself, "Can't believe you'd go and be a Blue Falcon, of all people."

Serah fixed the blonde with a threatening glare, and he instantly looked away.

_Ugh, who in the military _taught_ you that? Maqui, you'd better be thankful I can't pin you long enough to shove a bar of soap down your throat. But if you had said the _real_ phrase, I would've _found _a way…_

Hope looked utterly confused. "_What_ did you call me?"

"Forget it," Serah squeaked instantly, "he's just being an idiot."

Shrugging, Hope still remarked, "You call me enough names as it is, Maqui – and I was just being_ sarcastic_. I'll tell her myself."

"Yeah, sure…you and your _subtle _sarcasm…" the blonde muttered sulkily under his breath, backing even farther from view on his perch.

Hope turned back to Serah, fixing her with a look of determination. "Can I just give you the highlights, if you promise not to cry anymore?"

"Yes, anything at all…and I won't cry," she replied, fighting the urge to look away from his thin face. At that, his expression relaxed a bit, and he immediately began to pour out the information, as if a dam had burst within.

"It all started a few days after you gave me Dajh's picture – and I guess it was kind of my fault, in a way. When the nurses changed all the bedding for the week, they must have taken it from under the mattress. I don't know who did it or why, but the next night, the doctor on shift that always relieved Ann started asking me a bunch of weird questions."

"Wait a sec," Serah interrupted. "Wasn't that guy a friend of Ann's? I thought she trusted him."

Hope cleared his throat. "Yeah, he _is_, and she did trust him, which is most of the reason why I couldn't say anything to her. That and every night the questions he asked kept getting more specific, like he was trying to find out if I really_ was_ who I am – the l'Cie PSICOM's been after – and he said if I told anyone about it he'd make sure you couldn't come back to the facility. I _swear_ I didn't tell him anything about you, he could just tell I liked you being around…"

He hesitated, and Serah held her breath for him to finish the thought.

"I mean I didn't-I didn't _want_ to tell him _anything_, especially not about _you_, but two nights ago he said he was going to _make_ me talk, and then he put something strange in the IV…I don't remember anything that happened after that. All I know is that the next night, right after turnover, he thanked me for being so cooperative, and he mentioned my dad and said a bunch of stuff about Snow…and about Light…" At that, Hope cut off again, looking down at his hands.

_Real truth serum, huh. I'm never making _that_ joke again._

"Even if he was just repeating things that PSICOM had said, he had no right to call her such-such _awful_ names. And I'm pretty sure PSICOM knows – I bet they know _you_ were l'Cie now."

Serah swallowed the lump that had slowly begun to choke her. "Is that why Ann released you last night? Did she know?"

Wringing his hands, he explained darkly, "Yeah, that's_ got_ to be why, even though she didn't _say_ anything. She ran tests that next day like always, and got this scary look on her face…I think she must've noticed that chemical in my system or something. You remember when she left the room to make a personal call at lunch, right? She might have been asking around, maybe questioning some of the other doctors or the nurses on night shift about it."

"So she felt like she needed to protect us, but she didn't tell me so I wouldn't look suspicious," Serah commented, mostly to herself. "Then maybe they _don't_ know about me, or not enough to do anything yet. Otherwise, she wouldn't have told me to keep going with my training – not if she thought I'd really be in danger."

"She _what_?" Hope exclaimed, his eyes just about popping out of his head. "There's no _way_ you can go back there! Not _now_! He said they knew I could heal myself – that _all_ l'Cie could heal – and they would take me away and run _tests_ when I got better, and if I didn't cooperate, then they would just have to use someone _else_, and that means…it _has _to mean…"

_You think they mean me. But what if they mean… _

Her expression mirrored his own, and she grabbed him by the shoulders, gently trying to shake some sense back into him. "Hope, calm down – I don't think he was talking about me," she said, her voice heavy with repressed fear. "It's just…I know the others are still crystallized, but I think…I mean what if they _took_ them and…ugh! What am I _saying_? This is no time to panic!"

Releasing Hope's paralyzed form, she stood and called toward the crate, "Maqui, call Gadot _now_! Tell him they need to get a crew together to move Snow and the others out of that field ASAP!"

Maqui snapped his head to attention at the command, and hastily brought out the communicator. From the immediate response and lack of questions, she knew he had been following the conversation closely – it was one tiny speck of relief in a haze of tension. At her feet, Hope had ducked his head down to his knees, shaking like a leaf.

"Hope, let's get you home," she said in a no-nonsense tone, leaning down to grab hold of his thin fingers. It took a great deal less effort to pull him to his feet than before, and she had little trouble supporting him on one arm. "You're not going to get any better until you get some rest."

_And we'll only be in the way, here. This is out of our hands._


	5. No matter what

**A/N: Interestingly enough, my anti-angst mechanism led me to totally SKIP this entire chapter, but it is finally set right! The upbeat feel of chapter six, which was the original chapter five, just held so much appeal for some reason that it had prevented the writing of these necessary events, but worry not :P Thanks for bearing with me on the lateness of this chapter, since the Navy runs my life – and as a special treat, I plan on posting chapter six here in the next few days as well, a bit ahead of time. So please do let me know what you think by shooting a REVIEW! If it hadn't been for solid reviews from chapter 4, this story's sequence of events might have been royally screwed, and I'm not sure if I could have fixed it 0.0 Before we begin, I also have a fun term for you all:**

***Mids – abbreviated form of the phrase mid shift(s), which is a civilian AND military term for working a shift that crosses the hour of 0000, or midnight; there isn't a set standard on how long the mid shift is, though in military watchstanding it would likely be longer than a civilian shift. One military slang version of the shift is "Balls to [insert end hour]", a reference on the appearance of the start time, 00 o'clock, haha. In sentence, it would be, "He works the balls to six shift/watch."**

Disclaimer: Squeenix owns all of these lovely characters and gets all the profits for their use, but at the end of the day, my imagination is much more satisfied with its work of making their emotions ride the proverbial rollercoaster :3

No matter what (you say)

"Serah, you _have_ to promise me something," Hope blurted out, popping back up in bed after she had just gotten him settled for the fourth time in a row.

She took him by the shoulders and eased him down against the pillow, sighing at his obstinate refusal to stop talking and sleep. From the bags beginning to form under his eyes, it was clear that he hadn't rested at all the previous night, and he'd been up half the day already.

_He is dead tired. He just won't _let_ himself be tired, not with what's going on, but that can only make the stress harder to handle. What can I say that will make him give in?_

"What, Hope – what do I have to promise? And if I do, will you_ please_ take a nap?" she proposed, feeling a slight twitch of annoyance in one eye as she tacked on, "Sleep deprivation is deadly, you know – it can kill just as fast as starv—"

_Yeah, that was the wrong approach._

She coughed, attempting to cover the tactless error. "It's just bad."

Hope rolled his eyes, but the way he briefly chewed on his lip betrayed lingering self-consciousness. "I'm not anorexic, and yes, I _do_ know that. What I need is for you to promise that we can check on Light and the others in the field when I wake up – _and _that you'll wake me up before dark. Wouldn't you feel better seeing for yourself that they've been moved to safety?"

Puzzled by his sudden misgivings, Serah settled onto the edge of the bed and asked, "Since when was it not enough to trust NORA and the Guardian Corps to get the job done? You do know they'll call us about their progress, right?"

_Not that I don't have a bad feeling about this whole situation myself._

Hope blinked heavily and deliberately, clinging to consciousness until he had satisfied his request – she could see the struggle in his inability to focus his eyes.

"It's not _that_," he mumbled, unable to stifle a yawn. "But I don't know… something feels wrong, so please just promise we can check on them, okay?" He fought against the pillow, trying in vain to push himself back up into a sitting position.

So for the fifth time in less than half an hour, Serah maneuvered his arms away from propping his back off the bed and gently pressed his torso to the mattress.

"Shh…I promise, Hope – okay? But only if you go to sleep _now_."

She felt the feeble resistance under her hand melt away as his heartbeat slowed and he finally relaxed, his head rolling slightly to the side against its fluffy support. "Piece of cake," he replied almost inaudibly, just before giving in completely to exhaustion.

"Good," she breathed, brushing the bangs out of his face. "I could really use a nap, too."

Serah slid off the bed and shuffled quietly around to the other side; she only bothered to remove her shoes before lying down to sink into the covers and curl up reflexively. The weeks' worth of lost or anxious sleep seemed to accumulate around her like falling leaves, lulling her into a quiet rest.

When Hope curled an arm around his pillow, smiling in his sleep, she closed her eyes as well. A light breeze floated over from the slightly open window and she breathed it in. Something about his additional presence balanced the chill with warmth, summoning one of those indistinct memories that only came to her on the verge of sleep on an autumn day. When she remembered the breeze from the past, she always imagined she had been at a city park on some family vacation, probably to Palumpolum – the salty air of the beach was noticeably absent. It was too far gone a recollection for her to ever grasp much about the particulars, but it was more than enough for her to brush against the moment like passing a forgotten friend in a crowd. For that precious space of seconds, she was securely cradled in gentle but unfaltering arms, half-asleep against a soft flannel shirt.

_Daddy…_

She breathed out the memory with the fresh air, settling on a five o'clock wakeup for Hope.

* * *

The piercing sound of high-pitched beeps from Serah's communicator broke through the clouds on which her mind had rested, and she plummeted down to the reality of a flattening feather pillow and the warmth of her own impression in the mattress.

_How long have I been asleep?_

Blurry-eyed, she clumsily dug through her pocket for the offending device and flipped it open.

"Ngh, who is it?" she mumbled, knowing full well it was probably just Maqui.

"Well I see _somebody's_ been napping," his sarcastic voice replied. "This is your evening status report, and apparently wake-up call, courtesy of moi. Ahem…"

Maqui paused, cleared his throat, and called boisterously into the communicator, "Reveille reveille! Are you with me now?"

Serah flopped over onto her stomach, fighting the urge to hurl the communicator, and drew her knees up underneath her before crawling her way backward to sit up in a graceless, sprawling form. The shifting was enough to make Hope's arm twitch to her left as he drew in a sharp breath, but he did not wake up.

"Ugh, Maqui… if I wasn't already awake from the_ ringing_, I wouldn't have answered your _call_," she whispered harshly. "Just give me the status report."

She could hear him snort on the other end of the line before he replied, "Sure thing, Sleeping Beauty – it's been kinda slow goin' with only two available velos and one half-busted buoyancy lift, but the team's on its way back with Sazh right now. They'll be working nonstop into the night to make two more trips for our fearless leader and company."

Rubbing her temple to stave off what felt like an oncoming headache, Serah was far from at ease.

"Through the _night_? What's taking so long? Even with bad equipment and a small team, it shouldn't take several _hours_ to cover that distance."

"Oh, guess I should've explained that first," Maqui muttered. "The team had to take a really roundabout way to stay out of range of this stupid PSICOM patrol that passes through the south sector on rounds every half-hour or so. It'll go much faster after dark, trust me. Anyway, I'll call you if anything changes, so stand by. And try to stay awake."

Serah briefly considered informing him that she intended to catch a glimpse of their progress in person, but thought better of it.

_I'd rather not have to deal with someone else's protective resistance right now._

"Shouldn't be a problem," she said tersely, snapping the communicator shut and absently putting it on the nightstand. She turned toward the window, where orange rays of the lowering sun filtered through the blinds, and glanced down at her watch. The hands first registered as six twenty-five to her tired mind, and she jumped in momentary panic before considering the remaining daylight and blinking rapidly.

At second glance, it was actually five thirty. There was still enough time to stop by the field and return to pick up Dajh, but not if getting Hope to come around was involved. She looked down at his sleeping form – his head sank heavily into the pillow, and his breathing was so shallow and slow that she could barely tell he was alive.

_I can still be back to wake him before dark – it's going to be impossible to get him up and out the door fast enough now. That and a little bit cruel._

Working with that plan, Serah dragged herself off the bed as unobtrusively as possible and put on her shoes, instinctively tip-toeing to the door and slipping out. She closed it quietly behind her, exhaling once she realised she'd been holding her breath.

_I hate sneaking off like this, but I promised too much… and I need to at least see them with my own eyes, for the both of us._

* * *

As it turned out, that was to be the least of her 'sneaking' for the evening. Familiar as the route to the field had become from her Sunday vigil to visit her family, there were certain aspects of the situation that gave Serah a strong, abiding uneasiness. She slunk down the streets from shadow to shadow, lacking any semblance of a crowd into which she could blend. Traffic patterns in the residential district were predictable, and most of the Cocoon evacuees had already headed home for the evening.

But even with those factors, on any other day or at any other time, being alone wouldn't have presented a problem – it was the knowledge of a confirmed PSICOM patrol in the vicinity had her on high alert.

_What… what was that sound?_

The scuffing of boots on pavement and indistinct male voices tweaked her right ear – it was enough for Serah to scurry into an intersecting alley and take an alternate path exactly one block over. Her heart rapidly picked up speed when she approached the edge of the settlement, and it dawned on her that strolling into the open field to voluntarily become a sitting duck would be absolutely out of the question. From where she stood, leaning against the rough edge of the plaster-finished building on her right, the final rays of sunlight glimmered on the crystal forms of Snow and Lightning, indistinguishable at such a distance. Still, her eyes were momentarily dazzled – she brought a hand up to block the two bright spots from her vision.

When the sun disappeared behind a high peak of the far western mountains, she was finally able to get a full view of the scene. Squinting in the diminishing light, she could see a handful of figures crossing the field from a cluster of buildings in the south-central sector, closer to the warehouse district.

_Oh good – maybe I can at least tell Hope that I saw the team start moving Snow and Sis. Then again, it seems a little careless of them to just go walking straight onto the field before it's really even dark, especially after all that trouble to stay undetected. And where are the velos?_

Her train of thought was suddenly thrown by the sound and closeness of just such a velocycle engine, and her eyes darted from their distant target to the opening between the buildings just one block over – the way she normally exited the settlement.

_Was I being followed?_

The driver immediately shut off the engine, and though Serah's view was entirely blocked by the simple two-storey housing complex between them, she could hear anxious voices drifting around and through its thin walls.

"Oh _hell _no…" came the voice of an astonished female. "Looks like the reports were accurate. I'll call in, but then we'd better get moving."

_Lucil? She must've been sent scouting...but with someone else?_

"Wait – what about Serah? I _know_ she's out here somewhere, and she might even be on the field right now – right where they're headed! Can't we _distract_ them or something?"

Weakened though it was, that desperate voice was undeniably Hope's. At first, she couldn't believe that he had woken up in the first place, much less that he had gotten Lucil to drive him to the field, but when she instinctively shoved her hand into her pocket for the communicator, she found nothing but a wadded tissue – she quickly recalled leaving the device on the nightstand, then Maqui's warning to stand by for an update…

All the pieces finally fell together in Serah's befuddled mind.

Hope had woken up to the call. From Lucil's reaction, that had to be PSICOM taking the field, and there was nothing they could do to stop the advance.

The soldier's voice piped up again, as she tried reasoning with Hope in a barely-bridled tone of frustration, "Do you honestly think she'd be stupid enough to wander out there, or that anything we did right now could stop that extraction team? The lieutenant knows better than that – we all do! You've gotta get it through your thick skull that no matter what we peons think or how much we care about the people inside those statues – hell, even how much we care about you and Serah – in the eyes of PSICOM, you're all Sanctum property."

"But-but they can't just _claim _that and expect—" Hope tried to argue, but Lucil was far from finished with her explosive rant.

"Like hell they can't! Snow and Lightning are just evidence of an incident that would have been under PSICOM jurisdiction on Cocoon, and a dangerous potential threat! No amount of explanation could convince them otherwise, _believe_ me, and the Guardian Corps doesn't have the manpower or resources to take action at this point. We're lucky they don't already have _you_, which is why the best we can do right now is lay low and prepare for a strategic operation in the future – something that doesn't put so many lives on the line for no good reason."

"I get what you're saying, but they're closing in on them _now_, right in _front_ of us! And what about _Serah_?" Hope continued to implore, and Serah could tell the fight was far from over.

"Don't know what to tell you," Lucil said blankly. "Just hope she got lost and never made it – that or she's out of sight."

_Oh no, no no no. He isn't going to buy that, he'll try something..._

Serah whipped around and sprinted back, her braid flying behind her as she passed the crammed-together buildings in search of the nearest turn-off to cross the block, retracing her route to the narrow alley and charging through. She rounded the corner onto the original street and rushed toward the velocycle from behind as she pumped her legs faster than she could ever remember doing.

"Wait…_stop!_" she called out, her voice far too breathless to carry far. Through her shaky vision she saw the gestures of their continuing argument at the end of the street, though nothing was audible but her own blood rushing past her ears to drive her legs harder.

It seemed like ages before she finally reached them. Hope had inched around to the other side of the velocycle when Lucil stopped fighting him to call in her report over the communicator, and he was already poised to jump on the vehicle and likely drive for the field. Serah knew he wouldn't make it far in his condition, even on a velo – just far enough to draw attention to them and wreck everything they had worked for.

_Please stop, Hope! _

Rather than waste breath, Serah simply kept up her sprint and closed the distance, finally colliding into his side to trap him in her trembling arms just as he had straddled the vehicle and cranked the ignition.

"Don't you _dare_…I'm…right here!" she panted, tightening her hold. It felt as if she might literally crush his wasted form with the rush of adrenaline still driving her body, but she couldn't will herself to let up.

He struggled under her grasp, ineffectually kicking his shoes against the side of the velocycle. "No! Let me _go_!" he gasped, losing strength with the effort. "Even if _you're _safe…have to _do _something before…they take the others!"

_You can't, you _can't_ – they'll get you too! They'll take you _all_ from me!_

Lucil was quick to intervene, tugging at Serah's arms and calling insistently, "Hey, let _go_ Serah – you're gonna make him pass out! I _won't_ let him take off on the velo, got it? Serah, listen to me! Ugh, maybe you'll listen to _this_."

The steady purr of the engine died as Lucil leaned across the dash to cut the ignition, and the overwhelming tide of panic finally ebbed. Serah absorbed the silence, blinking when she focused a bit too hard on the soldier's flaming red hair twisted into a bun directly in her line of vision. She loosened her vice grip and let her hands fall slowly to the seat on either side of Hope, her head slumping forward to rest against his arm.

He coughed and sputtered breathlessly, "Was that…really _necessary_?"

"Sorry… I'm so sorry," she whispered, biting her lip and digging her fingertips into the leather seat cushion to hold back a long-delayed cry. She hated the way her knees knocked together and threatened to give way – the product of a dead sprint and the fear that had powered it.

The entire day had been one crashing wave of dread after another, separated by spaces of falsely reassuring calm. Even in the midst of relief at her success in stopping Hope, Serah shifted her face on his shoulder to look forward over the velocycle's dash at the darkening figures of PSICOM soldiers bustling on the field. They worked methodically, confidently even, in their silent operation to steal away her family. A Cocoon transport hovered over the scene shortly after, lines were lowered and secured to the human crystals, and in the deepening twilight she could only watch, practically frozen herself while her heart pounded in protest against the uselessness of her body, as Snow and Lightning were lifted from the field to leave nothing more than patches of dead grass.

Hope's shoulder trembled beneath her cheek, and she jolted and backed away to see him bend forward, smothering a grating cry of anger with his hands.

"_No!_ Why can't we do _anything_?" he growled in vain, slamming a fist against the seat. "_Why?_"

_I've been asking myself that for a very, very long time. Still no answer in sight._

At first, Lucil appeared to be struck speechless at the scene – Hope was furious, Serah was destroyed, and the soldier stood in hesitation with her hand clenched tightly around the velocycle's right handlebar grip. Clear annoyance passed over her face at her own brief delay before she snapped back to her duty and took action.

"Like I said – we need to get moving," she said matter-of-factly, mounting the velocycle in front of Hope, who was absolutely rigid in his sudden silence. Lucil jerked her head, gesturing toward the back of the saddle seat. "Serah, get on the back, now."

Serah numbly did as she was told, holding onto Hope as they took off, despite the sick feeling that settled in her stomach when he flinched at the contact. She had never seen him like that. Hurt and in tears, yes. Deathly ill, yes. Sweet and sympathetic, yes.

Angry beyond all reckoning…no.

Her mind drifted to several mundane tasks on the nerve-wracking ride home, brief though it was. She checked the time, thought about picking up Dajh and what she would need to make for dinner, about _anything _other than what had just transpired at the edge of the settlement.

When they pulled to a stop in front of the shelter, Serah hopped off immediately, hating herself for wanting to get away from the repellent energy still emanating from Hope, but needing to escape nonetheless.

Hope, for his part, did not budge from the seat. Digging the toe of her shoe into the dirt nervously while her hands clasped tightly behind her back, Serah finally found the courage to say something.

"So…thanks, Lucil. I should really go get Dajh now," she said hollowly. "Hope, let me know what you want to eat when you come upstairs." Walking to the door to head inside, she froze in her tracks at the coldness in his response.

"I'm not coming in," he said harshly.

In spite of her better judgment, Serah turned around and asked, stammering, "What-what do you mean?

He finally looked over, his tired eyes dark and unreadable. "_Exactly_ what I said."

Lucil's shoulders stiffened as she observed the exchange, and she suddenly interjected, "Look Hope, I don't know what you've got into that head of yours—"

"Just taking you up on your offer from before, Lucil," Hope cut in, his tone absolutely unchanged. "I'll stay at the barracks until I _can_ do something to fix this."

Shrugging, the private shot Serah a look of concession and apology.

"Are you sure about this?" Serah asked quietly, looking down at the ground – it hurt to match his enigmatic gaze. "You're still recovering…" Had his suddenly frigid demeanor not caught her completely off-guard, she would have railed at him for being so defiant – as it was, she felt lost, like her 'normal reaction' mechanism had been disabled. He had hit the switch, whether he knew it or not.

_Sometimes…sometimes I couldn't get my concern across to Sis, either. Not when she got into a mood like this. It was total shutdown._

"I'll survive," he bit out. "Apparently _everyone_ else can go to hell before anything happens to _me_. Snow, Light, _you_…" The bitterness in his voice was unmistakable.

_Is he _blaming _me? Is he actually angry that I kept him from sacrificing himself?_

She felt a defensive, almost self-righteous fury burn inside her and consume the timidity that had set in, and she replied sharply, "_No_, but I certainly do recognise a suicide attempt when I see it."

The fact that her words made white-hot indignation flare up in his eyes was actually comforting in light of his previous iciness.

"Stop _protecting_ me!" he shouted, sliding off the velo and stumbling as he landed, but he quickly got his bearings and slashed his arm through the air emphatically as he continued to vent, walking toward her. "That's all _anyone_ ever does! Mom picked up a weapon and got herself blown off a bridge trying to protect me, Light trusted me with her knife and helped me along when I could have gotten her _killed_ in battle, and_ Snow_ even took care of me, after I tried to _stab_ him with that _same knife_ off the edge of a building! He broke ribs shielding my fall when I got blown off the roof, carried me to safety, then _apologized_ to my father for mom's death anyway. Does it sound like I even _deserve_ protection?"

_You mean…the knife_ I_ bought…but Light wouldn't have given it to you if she didn't think you were trustworthy, even if Snow became your target. You were just some fourteen-year-old kid trying to respond to one tragedy after another._

By that point, Serah thought her ears might start bleeding under the pressure of accusations Hope kept piling onto himself – a little bead of cold sweat snaked its way down her hairline and trickled into the corner of her open, shocked mouth. He stepped closer to her, facing upward to look her in the eyes, and laid one final stone onto the stack.

"And _you_ – don't you even _care_ that you're working right under PSICOM's nose, and that I might have already given you away? Not to mention you went _by yourself_ to check on the others, after I made you promise to wake me up and take me along. I keep trying, but you won't let me do any of the protecting, not _ever_." As his voice died down from the shout it had originated as, Serah wasn't sure from the anguished look on his face whether he was still angry or wanted to cry. His eyes were back to the sea-foam green that matched the color of the bandanna just above them, and she couldn't see how the rage he had just shown was even possible.

_Won't you let me help you? Even after all that happened, I can't think of you like that…I can't see you deserving punishment. That wasn't you – none of it was _your_ fault._

She tilted her head to regard him sympathetically, reaching out her hand automatically, but Hope flinched away, balling his hands into fists as he turned away from her to walk back to the velocycle.

"I need to just _leave_ – if I'm gone, you won't _have_ to protect me anymore," he said bitterly, climbing back onto the velocycle with some effort. She could see the weakness from sleep deprivation and malnutrition beginning to take hold of his movements again, overriding the adrenaline that must have been pulling him along in its surge up to that point.

"Let's go, Lucil."

The soldier nodded, pointedly avoiding Serah's pained gaze and still-open mouth – the velocycle roared as she revved the engine and pulled away. Paralyzed and incapable of calling out, even to the indifferent air and settling dust in their wake, Serah felt the sensation of stitches that had kept her heart in one piece being ripped apart, one by one. A single, detached chunk seemed to sink into her stomach, perhaps in a vain effort to drown itself into oblivion.

For a good while, her mind went completely numb at the disconnection between what she knew had taken place and what she should have felt as a result. She couldn't really acknowledge that her sister and fiancé were being transported to a PSICOM facility somewhere, and that her supportive surrogate brother had just left of his own volition. No, those thoughts dissolved in a haze of shock.

But the separated heart piece remained where it had lodged itself, beating an off-rhythm in the wrong anatomical region while she trudged up the stairs to Tavi's apartment adjacent to the common room, put on a smile and took Dajh by the hand, then finally returned to their little apartment. Continuing in her blank state of non-acceptance – or delayed reaction to everything she was unable to process – Serah ascertained Dajh's choice of available options for dinner and went down to make a small batch of spaghetti.

She dished out the lion's share of the noodles and rather bland sauce to Dajh, trying not to dwell on the fact that she had simply cooked too much of everything for just the two of them to eat – particularly since her stomach communicated a lack of room for much food, period. Yet that slip-up in her judgment for dinner portions wasn't enough to penetrate the fragile shell of denial that shielded her from the truth of what was wrong. Her mind remained passive, running itself on a false default construct from many weeks prior and again from the past month, when it had only been the six-year-old and herself living there.

It was later, when the distraction of Dajh's innocent chatter had long since ceased and she lay down for the night, casually dropping an outstretched arm to her left, that something broke through. Her wrist connected with the cold, hard metal of the communicator, carelessly left open and cast onto the covers in haste, so very out of place that it was enough to send her thoughts hurtling back to the present and how very, utterly alone she was.

_They _are _all gone…Snow and Sis aren't safe, and they're totally out of reach! What will happen to them? And who's going to take care of Hope in the barracks? He was in such bad shape…_

She broke out in a cold sweat, snatched the communicator, and almost dialed in the channel to call Lucil before another thought occurred to her.

_He left because of me. This is exactly the sort of overprotective reaction that made him want to get away from me in the first place. Ugh! How can I even _think _of calling!_

Snapping the communicator closed, she placed it on Hope's pillow and just lay there staring in that same direction at the shadowy expanse that stretched from where she had curled up on her side, across the otherwise empty bed, to a lone bottle of aspirin off-center on the dresser. The resilient chunk of her heart still floating around in her stomach clenched up in its suffering and sank heavily – she felt a single, wretched tear leak onto the pillow.

_Pain reliever…hmph. Can't even take the edge off this kind of pain._

She had waited too long to close the window to keep out the chilly night wind, leaving the air in the room still but cold, impervious to the blanket Serah lay huddled beneath. So relentless in its escape was her own body heat that she was soon forced to burrow under the actual comforter, where she promptly curled into a ball and cried herself to sleep.

* * *

A combination of Serah's usual watch alarm and the muffled beeping of the communicator dragged her from the depths of unconsciousness at precisely five thirty. She blinked wearily at the all-too-familiar position of the hands and jolted awake instantly, some part of her hoping for a do-over and believing the events burdening her mind had been nothing more than a vivid nightmare. Digging out from under the pile of covers, she finally shoved them away and lurched up to a sitting position.

The dull, pre-morning gray of the room greeted her, and she shivered as the coldness of reality wrapped around her.

_So I really am alone. Time to get a grip, I guess – should be used to this by now. At least I can go to work and do something productive._

Snatching the still-beeping communicator from Hope's pillow, she flipped it open and utilized her free hand to scrub at the little crusts around her puffy eyes from all the pointless crying.

"Hello?" she asked blankly, her voice rough, but she couldn't have cared less.

"Geez, aren't you usually awake by now? This whole reveille routine is gonna get old really fast." Of course, it was Maqui. The last tiny fragment of hope that it would be anyone else, particularly a certain very sick boy probably sleeping on a cot somewhere, was crushed to dust.

Impossibly, Serah replied in an even more deadpan tone, "Maqui, my alarm is almost always set for five thirty. Both the timing of your call _and_ your humor couldn't have been worse."

"Oh," he said after a bit of an uncomfortable silence on the line. "I get the feeling that this news isn't gonna make you any happier with me, but I'll just have faith that you won't shoot the messenger. Okay, so first of all, I won't waste time telling you about what went down last night – already got word that you know, since you had to go see for yourself and all that—"

"_Please_, just get to the point."

_Before I hang up. Surely it couldn't be serious enough to endure this mini rehash of everything I'd rather not think about._

She heard his sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line, but he didn't dare whine about the interruption. "Right. We relayed the situation to Miss Ann, and she's with all of us on this: you can't go to the clinic today…or even leave the shelter for a few days, maybe weeks if there aren't any positive indications that PSICOM's stopped snooping around. It's pretty obvious they're still targeting Hope, but he's under twenty-four hour surveillance – no one's really sure if they'll be after you or not at this point, so, according to Gippal, we need to watch their patrol patterns and see if they've targeted your section in the residential district. If they _do_ know you were l'Cie or even feel suspicious after interrogating Hope in quarantine, they would likely start tracking you from the clinic and find out where you live, which would not only put Dajh in danger, but make it impossible for you both to try and live normally outside the GC compound. We're more willing to err on the side of caution."

A burning frustration grew in Serah's chest, travelling up through her throat and stinging behind her eyes. She wasn't angry at Maqui specifically, just their disastrous circumstances, but with the way she felt right then the only thing that kept her from throwing the communicator into the nearest available wall was an awareness of Dajh still sleeping soundly right across the room.

_This day could not possibly get any worse._

Instead, she gripped the edge of her blanket so tightly that her knuckles turned white and replied through clenched teeth, "Fine."

Silence. When he finally spoke up, Maqui's voice had lost its usual edge of amusement, and he almost sounded apologetic. "We can always bring you over to the shop…I mean, if you feel like it. I'll even pick you up myself."

The change in his address momentarily pulled Serah's attention from its inward focus, and she acknowledged, deep down, that this was a collective effort of all the people genuinely concerned for her safety. However, just as Hope continued to do, she tended to doggedly refuse to be so dependent on the protection of others. Being on the receiving end of that action made her consider, for once, how much her friends worried about her. If it was anywhere near the level of her own anxiety, they needed the burden lifted.

"I-I'd like that," she quietly conceded, wanting to be so much more civil than her feelings tried to make her behave. "And thanks, Maqui…for letting me know about all this before I got up and dressed and halfway across town. Really."

She could almost feel him grinning on the other end of the line when he said simply, "Hey, I try. Call me when you're ready, 'kay?"

"Sure. Should be soon."

For that fleeting moment, the constant flood of inner ache subsided.

_Life has to go back to normal before long…well, something normal-ish._

* * *

Being in the Guardian Corps complex of the warehouse district in the middle of the day without a clear purpose weirded Serah out like nothing else. And the moment Maqui pulled his velocycle alongside warehouse nine, the nerve-wracking effect of where she was and what she should expect doubled.

_Why did I agree to this? What will I have to do, hide out somewhere so I won't be bothering Hope while he starts training again? Will he even be training today?_

Fidgeting anxiously in place once her feet hit the ground and Maqui killed the engine, Serah inquired, "So…what exactly can I _do_ out here? I mean it's better than just sitting at home bored once all the chores are done, but I kinda feel out of place—"

"You're _never_ out of place here!" Maqui cut in, throwing an arm over her shoulder and pulling her along with him into the shop. "For now, you can tag along with Lebreau – she's always got a bunch of odd-and-end jobs going."

"Oh. Okay, that could be fun," Serah said half-heartedly.

It turned out to be just short of disastrous.

Serah's general incompetence concerning firearms came out barely five minutes into Lebreau's lineup of tasking for the morning, which primarily revolved around weapons cleaning and maintenance. She stared down at the bulky metal object on her lap, so dangerous and powerful, yet so complicated and – from what Serah could conjecture – _fragile_ under her inexperienced hands.

Afraid to make one false move, all she managed to do was shift the gun into a more comfortable position so that she could look down the top of the barrel and maybe do something productive with the cleaning cloth in her hand. Right then, the handle-like portion jutting down where she had wedged it between her legs for stability creaked oddly and jerked to one side.

_Oh great. I don't even know what to _call_ that part, and I broke it. Nice job Serah – it's not like she asked you to disassemble the thing, just polish it a bit!_

She swallowed her pride and looked up at Lebreau, who sat on a crate across from her with a similar gun she had almost finished reassembling. Serah tapped her knee as she said quietly, "Umm, Lebreau, I think something just…broke."

Lebreau tried and failed to not smile as she gently pointed the muzzle of the assault rifle in Serah's hands _away_ from herself before she took the weapon and remarked, "Serah, please don't take this the wrong way, but sometimes I wonder how you and Lightning are even related."

Quickly wriggling and releasing the jammed part, inspecting it, and then snapping it back into place properly, Lebreau set the assault rifle on the floor between them.

"Good thing yours was empty," she added with a growing smirk, pointing to the same piece on her own assault rifle. "This is the magazine by the way – it's supposed to come off pretty easily to reload ammo, so don't sweat it."

_You say that like you're not one hundred percent positive that these weapons aren't _loaded!_ Shouldn't that be a first priority?_

Serah took another look at the magazine – which still appeared to be a second handle that was curving the wrong way – contemplated her own ineptitude, and decided then and there that firearms just weren't for her, and never would be.

She sighed in defeat. "Lebreau, isn't there something else I could help with – something that won't run the risk of me shooting you or breaking military equipment?"

"Well…" she began, twisting a rebellious strand of dark hair around her finger as she looked up in thought, "there are some extra gunblade parts I just sorted through to send over to the barracks. Wanna be my delivery girl?"

Serah considered the offer for a few moments – half of her wanted to leap at the opportunity as some providential excuse to find out if Hope was recovering and taken care of, but the other half was adamantly opposed to what could be a step in the _wrong_ direction.

_Not sure I can deal with the worst case scenario here – with my luck he'll think I'm not just an obsessively concerned guardian, but a _stalker, _and never trust me again. Talk about the cherry on my glass-shard sundae of a life._

Refusing to meet Lebreau's eyes and probably give away her motivations, she finally replied, "I'd like to take you up on that offer, but I think it's probably a bad idea. I've never even been inside the barracks, so I would probably get lost or do something stupid – that's really unacceptable at this point."

"You know, I _could_ just pass over your sad excuse for a bluff and the self-deprecation crap, but I'm not gonna do it this time," Lebreau immediately snapped, her serious tone devoid of its previous lighthearted lilting. She tossed her head defiantly and crossed her arms.

"Don't think for a _second_ that I'm out of the loop – I know _exactly_ why you don't want to go over there, and I was trying to give you a legit reason to do it anyway! No matter what you think of yourself right now, Serah Farron, we all know you're capable of showing some backbone when the chips are down and scaring the hell out of people if you have to. Hope may be about as stubborn as you, but you did the right thing trying to protect him and you _know_ it. The only way to fight his little teenage stubborn streak is to be unmovable yourself, not avoid the problem or just lie down and take it. I don't care if he _is_ sick – this is his passive-aggressive version of a rebellion, pure and simple. I kicked Maqui's scrawny ass a couple of years ago when he tried to worm his way out of survival training; with Hope, you'll just have to get creative."

Lebreau paused when she saw Serah stiffen defensively and look pointedly at the ground, but she drove her point home when she continued, "And this isn't just me spouting a bunch of nonsense based on speculation – I'm telling you on behalf of Lucil. She's his assigned escort so she can't _make_ him go back home, and her superiors seem to think it's better that Hope stay under surveillance right now anyway, but she feels kinda bad for you, too. When she told me all about what happened on the scouting run, I didn't expect for you to even bother leaving the shelter today, so that's a step forward. Why not take another one?"

_Wonderful. Does _everyone_ talk about my personal issues while I'm not around? Because they certainly don't have a problem talking about them to my _face.

"Ugh," Serah groaned, swiping angrily at the bangs that had fallen in front of her face and practically glaring at her friend. "It's not like I can't handle this myself, or that I'm resigned to lying down and taking it. I'm _letting_ him have his space – no 'creativity' necessary. Exactly _how_ has this turned into a big concern for all of you, anyway? Shouldn't you all be more worried about the fact that PSICOM just kidnapped Snow and my sister and took them away to who knows where? My issues don't count for _squat_ right now – really, I'll survive!" She didn't even realize that she had been gesturing emphatically until she stopped speaking and Lebreau grasped her waving hands in the space between them.

"Let go of me – I'm fine, I mean it!"

_Maker, I sound just like him._

"Serah, I've known you for years now, and you are _so_ not 'fine'," Lebreau said pointedly. "Half the reason is _because_ of what happened to Snow and Lightning, for sure. As for the rest, I don't blame you – Hope is in pretty bad shape, but he thinks he's a burden and doesn't want the help he needs. I don't care what he says or how mature he acts most of the time, he isn't thinking straight and he's being reckless. It's _eating_ at you because you feel responsible, and that's totally justified," she further explained in an almost placating voice, refusing to release her hands.

Squirming under her friend's grip and understanding gaze, Serah fought to maintain her strength and not cave to sympathy. She'd felt weak and helpless enough for ten lifetimes.

_I am not going to cry, I can't cry, I cry more than small children about pointless stuff and it isn't even helpful and Sis would be totally ashamed…_

But her efforts were futile. Serah shook with stifled sobs while her eyes fogged over, and Lebreau let go of her hands in favor of pulling her into a supportive shoulder. The tears carried with them thoughts of how she had failed everyone – failed her family by being careless and inadvertently drawing PSICOM's attention, failed Hope by giving him Dajh's picture and associating with him at all in quarantine, and failed herself by being so selfish in her own miserable state. But thankfully, the release gave way to reason, and she knew, truly, that they were all just victims of circumstance, and that trying to take the blame was a sad waste of time. She hadn't blamed Hope or her sister, or anyone else, for the reactive mistakes they had made in the past, and it was time she applied that understanding to herself.

Once she had cried out most of her frustration, Serah finally let her mind relax and come back to the details of the present for her grounding force. Oddly, she attached to the intermingled smells of cleaning grease, gunpowder and some floral-based perfume that always marked Lebreau's presence.

_Guess these observations come naturally when you're a 'hugger.' Sis smelled kind of like this, at least she did the few times I was able to get a hug in without seeming like some pathetic, attention-starved puppy to her. Well, she probably still thought that, but it was worth the hug._

Sitting up straight and wiping her eyes, Serah said sincerely, "Thanks for that, Lebreau. Maybe I should go deliver that stuff – I mean, if you think it really is the best approach—"

"No no, it's not up to me," Lebreau interrupted, holding up her hand. "_You_ get to decide. My goal was just to help you change that silly, defeated attitude into something productive, so you wouldn't go on thinking you didn't _have _a choice." She hopped to her feet, stretching casually and putting a hand on her hip.

"So what do you think – wanna go confront Hope or let things unfold however they will? 'Cause you're gonna have to either be totally aggressive or totally passive about this – passive-aggression can't fight passive-aggression, _believe_ me. It's boring and stupid and nothing gets done, just ask Yuj sometime. Lucil already said she plans to give you status reports, so if that's good enough for you and you aren't leaning toward the confrontation option, it's good enough for all of us."

Having cleansed out much of the emotional blockage, Serah considered the situation objectively, with a clear head for once. What immediately came to mind was, surprisingly, Ann's admonishment from the day before that she never give up on her training, with a warning that unchecked anxiety would invariably cause her to let Hope down in the long run when she could have put the energy to good use.

"In that case, I think I know what I need to do," Serah said confidently, standing as well and dusting off some dirt from where the assault rifle had been on her lap before. "Do you think the field medics would mind if I bugged them to let me help out here, while I wait for this to blow over?"

Lebreau grinned and shrugged. "Only one way to find out. I'd head over there now, though, before they get super busy for the day or something."

"Thanks – I'll do that then!" Serah immediately turned and jogged off toward the door, alight with a new purpose.

"Don't forget to give Lucil a call!" Lebreau called after her.

"I won't!"

_I'll take what reassurance I can get from talking with her – as least I feel like I can handle things now, for myself._

* * *

And over the course of three and a half weeks, she did just that.

Intent on making progress with her medical training despite being banned from the clinic – and solidly distracting herself in the process – Serah found her saving grace in whatever hands-on training she could get from the field medics in the complex, supplemented by studying the books that Maqui would occasionally pick up from Ann.

That isn't to say that the training was anywhere near advanced, but it was better than nothing. What passed as their site clinic, casually called the 'first-aid ward,' consisted of a smaller section of the number six warehouse divided into two parts – the front room for immediate care, and the back room for storage and overnight patients. Both were small and cramped. Aside from the desk near the doorway at which the medic on call sat, the rest of the front room was crowded with cabinets full of medical supplies, an examination table next to a tray of assorted instruments, and a bare-bones setup of standard and emergency equipment such as an IV set, blood pressure monitor and heart defibrillator.

It took all of two days after Serah first invaded the on-site response clinic to become a frequent visitor – she pestered the staff almost every day for the remainder of the month.

That last Friday in particular, she showed up later in the day, based on a tip that the swing shift workers had different tasking than the morning shift she usually visited.

"So what's new on the training schedule for today?" Serah inquired, popping her head in the door and practically skipping through. She answered the unflinchingly bored expression of the medic on call with a look of pure innocence and a sweet smile.

_I _will_ be persistent. No amount of bad attitude can make me turn away from an opportunity for field experience._

The only indication that the soldier even registered Serah's words was his shifting to support his head with the left arm propped on the tiny desk rather than the right.

"So you're still banned from the main clinic?" he finally bothered to respond, not a hint of real curiosity in the question. "Well, sorry to tell you that today isn't good for training. Not unless you wanna help me serialize the inventory in the back and _call_ it training."

_Hmm…maybe that tip was just some decoy from the day shift to get me off their hands. Sneaky little weasels – I'll show them up and serialize like no one has serialized before. _

She rolled up the sleeves of her sweater and put her hands on her hips. "Sounds good. Let's knock this out!"

The medic gave her an expression that wanted to be disdain but morphed into bewilderment. He shook his head, wearily rising from his post at the desk and weaving around the equipment in the cluttered room to the door in the back.

"Lady, if you really wanna take this on, I'm not gonna stop you," he muttered.

_You better believe you're not._

Serah just smiled and followed him, plotting every possible way to meticulously organize the inventory with such precision that the site medics would take her seriously for once.

* * *

What they accomplished in three hours' time would have boggled the minds of non-perfectionists, but to Serah, it was a cinch.

Once the dust settled from their flurry of effort, every single piece of inventory that had previously been unaccounted for or mislabeled was properly serialized and neatly in place on a shelf in alphabetical order, with the smaller instruments and supplies stacked in bins that were tagged with color-coded labels by section according to a long unutilized guidance manual, and then painstakingly entered in the reorganized logbook.

It was a thing of beauty.

"Guess that's all of it," Serah announced proudly, wearily rising from where she knelt to copy the last serial code into the book. She closed the green, hardbound log and placed it in a hanging bin on the back of the door, dusting her hands.

The medic couldn't have been more impressed. For once, he actually cracked a smile as he took a moment to survey the tidy back room – once everything was in order, it no longer seemed like the medical supplies were trying to swallow up the barely sufficient space for the sickbed in the room's center. An overnight patient could actually sleep comfortably with the state of the ward.

He turned to the girl responsible, gratitude in his voice as he stuck out his hand for her to shake and said, "That was really amazing. This might be the first time I've felt like I actually did something _useful_ on my duty shift. It's usually so quiet in the afternoons – seems like the guys on mornings and mids really get all the work done around here!"

"Hey, this is the stuff no one wants to do, but _somebody_ has to," Serah replied, laughing and shaking his hand in affirmation. "I probably won't be around to help out again, but I'm sure you can handle it on your own when they mess up all our hard work in a few weeks."

"Ugh, please don't tell me _that_…" he whined.

Shrugging, she turned and headed out the clinic's front door. "Sorry, but it's the truth. Have a good rest of your shift!" she called behind her, stepping into the street between the rows of warehouses and blinking at the dust stirred up by a passing wind. It was already five o'clock by her watch – Maqui was always out in front of the number nine shop with his velocycle to take her home by ten to the hour, so when she glanced to her left up the street and saw no one, his absence confused her.

She considered going into the workshop to find out what was up, but stopped short. It wasn't that anyone forbid her to be there, but she had made a point to stay away and continue avoiding confrontation with Hope, since Maqui finally agreed to let him start training again less than two weeks before. She hadn't been surprised – Lucil reported that his condition was improving steadily, and that some of the other soldiers in the barracks had practically attacked him with force-feeding and various fitness strategies to make him gain weight. The private had laughed fondly over the communicator about their enthusiasm, and Serah made up her mind then and there that interference would probably be more detrimental than helpful.

_Maybe this was best for him – a change of pace, a taste of independence. But would it have been so hard to maintain contact on the comms, at least? I still don't get why one hundred percent disconnection was necessary, like if he talked to me for five seconds to say "Hey, I'm alive! How are you?" I'd assume that all bets were off and it was okay to run out to the clinic and get nabbed by PSICOM. _

_Guess that's just how it goes, though – Lucil said right off the bat that he insisted I move under twenty-four hour protection, and I insisted on keeping things normal for Dajh, so we got stuck in a month-long stalemate. The longest fight I ever had with Sis lasted maybe two weeks. Sheesh. Who says boys don't hold grudges?_

The thought had no sooner crossed her mind than the light shuffle of soles on dirt made her turn toward the shop again, and her mouth dropped open in astonishment at the figure approaching. Instead of a half-starved boy whose coveralls looked like they could fit two of him inside, the teenager in view looked healthy in general. He was even starting to fill out the white t-shirt exposed above where the coveralls were tied at his waist, though his clothes were still decently baggy on his lanky frame.

"Hey, Serah," Hope said cautiously, giving a nervous wave before instantly stuffing his gloved hands back into his pockets as usual. A mere five paces later he stood right in front of her. She could hardly sort her thoughts to respond.

_But you…you haven't even…why _now?

Surprise turned to confusion turned to frustration turned to outright indignation, and the choice of response was made for her.

She slapped him straight across the face, the sound reverberating through the air and echoing in her ears for a long few seconds before she found her voice.

"What the _hell_ do you think you're doing, strolling out here like it's no big deal after you refused to _speak_ to me all this time? A weekly courtesy call would have sufficed!" she exclaimed, forcibly lowering her voice once she realized how loud and squeaky it sounded.

"Ouch," he muttered, rubbing his reddened left cheek and lowering his head guiltily as he tried to explain, "I-I thought Lucil kept you pretty much up to date about everything, and she said you were doing really well, so I kind of assumed it would be better to stay away_ completely_ for a while—"

Serah clenched her hands at her sides to will the burning behind her nose and eyes to disappear as she interjected sharply, "I _did_ get lots of information from Lucil, but how on Pulse did that translate into being a _replacement _for having you around, or even hearing from you? Dajh is _still_ asking when you'll be coming home, and I am sick of lying to a six-year-old for _no good reason_!"

_I am not going to cry. Not this time. NO._

"There _was_ a good reason!" Hope yelled back, apparently reaching a point where he was more angry than ashamed as his eyes lit up like green torches. "Even if it was only for a few weeks, I was out of the way and doing just fine without making you worry all the time or being an extra mouth to feed or posing some kind of threat if PSICOM tracked me to the shelter! The reason I'm standing here – the _only_ reason – is because I'm still a stupid kid who misses his family, surrogate or otherwise."

His voice cracked minutely on that admission, and it made Serah's stomach tie up in a knot of guilt for behaving like an impulsive brat. Her hand still stung from the misdeed.

Hope shifted his stance and looked back down, qualifying with uncertainty, "That doesn't mean I'm not going to turn right around and go back to the barracks or anything. I just wanted to say hi…and Happy Birthday."

"What?" Serah asked quizzically, and Hope raised his head to meet her odd expression, matching it with one of slightly more irritated confusion. The rush of furious exchanges between them ground to a screeching halt.

"What do you mean, 'what'? It's your birthday, and I'm wishing for it to be happy. It's traditional. Though maybe it would've been happier if I hadn't shown up – I'm pretty sure a slap in the face is not a good sign."

Serah rolled her eyes, raising a hand to her forehead to tuck some of the wind-whipped bangs behind her ear. "Yes, it's traditional for someone's _actual_ birthday. Which isn't today. For future reference, mine is February third."

At that point, realisation spread across Hope's features, and he stood stock still with every muscle tense. His jaw was set and his face flushed with embarrassment.

"Maqui is going to pay for this," he said in a dangerously low voice, narrowing his eyes. "I don't know how or when, but he will pay."

_Oh Maqui, you conniving little genius. I suppose I owe you now._

That was all Serah could take before she snorted and choked out a laugh over Hope's adolescent version of a tantrum, the sensation feeling a bit foreign after weeks of shutting her own emotions down – she welcomed the change.

Hope deflated a bit at her amused reaction, looking gradually more upset with himself for not knowing her actual birthday rather than upset with Maqui for proving it. He stared down at his shoes and kicked at the dirt.

"Really should've _asked_ you when it was before now," he mumbled apologetically. "Anyway, I'd better get out of here so you won't be late to pick up Dajh." Starting to turn and step away, he didn't move far before she tentatively reached out to grasp his arm.

It was a consciously tweaked version of an instinctive move, and Serah felt internally jarred by her own resistance to just hug him instead – there were self-protective barriers in place of which she had not been aware, as if that action would drive him to run or flinch or otherwise react negatively, and she hated it.

So much so that she didn't know what to say once she had stopped him.

"I-I don't…" she stammered, not really sure where the sentence would lead. "I don't want…I mean I can't _stand_ this, really – maybe _you_ can, but…would you please just come home anyway?" Her voice died out, the pathetic request rushed and barely audible, so she mentally trampled on her stubborn pride and asked again more confidently.

"Please?"

Hope only sighed at first, but he finally did turn back around, wiping his face of emotion save his eyes. They never could disguise themselves, but she couldn't place whether the conflict behind them was due to imminent refusal or because he intended to give in.

Quietly, steadily, he asked, "Would you give me chores to do?"

"Yes?" she replied, caught off guard by the question and not entirely sure what the desired answer was.

"And let me have time alone every once in a while without worrying that I fell to my death or something?" he asked with more attitude.

At that point, she raised an eyebrow suspiciously. "Time for what?"

"That's the point of being alone – doing or thinking whatever you want without having to answer to anyone. Which is why I'm not answering now."

_Nevermind. I'd probably rather not know._

"Okay, sure. I can make room for your introverted tendencies," Serah conceded, albeit in her own subtly controlled way. She had unconsciously straightened her posture and placed a hand on her hip.

Though Hope seemed satisfied, he looked off to the side for a few moments and played with the band of his glove as though trying to remember another important request.

Shortly afterward, he gave her the most heart-melting, imploring look possible – his eyes went wide and glistened, and his eyebrows crinkled up as he asked simply, "Can we have coffee?"

_Lucil, if you gave him coffee I swear…_

Somewhere on the far side of the base, Private Lucil was blissfully unaware that her life expectancy decreased by about five years in that instant.

"No," Serah replied adamantly. "Caffeine dependency disrupts natural sleep cycles, so I'm sticking to the green tea regimen."

Hope was briefly crestfallen, but he weighed her responses and rallied once again.

"Well, aside from the shameful lack of coffee, I can't see any reason to _not _go home then…not if you're still insisting on living there while staying off the radar until NORA and the Guardian Corps give you the go-ahead," he reasoned. "And you _are_, right?"

Raising her arms submissively in front of her, she replied emphatically, "Yes, absolutely – there's no way I'm going back to the clinic until they say it's safe."

A crooked little grin spread over his face, and before she could fully process the wonder of the change from total isolation to filial banter, he sidled up and wrapped her in a hug.

"Good," he said against her shoulder, his words slightly muffled by the sweater fabric. "I missed the shelter _almost_ as much as you and Dajh – I was _never_ alone in the barracks, cots are really uncomfortable, and guys in the community showers gave me weird looks, like I was some skeletal alien creature. Don't know about you, but I'm ready to go home."

"Ha, I can't think of anything better," she said with a lighthearted laugh. Some little piece of her was still afraid that once she let go of Hope he might change his mind or vanish somehow, but Serah just allowed him to pull away on his own time, one lingering second after her reply. It was going to be an uphill battle not to keep him in sight at all hours after everything that had transpired over the past two months, and specifically the past two _days_, but there were worse things. She basked in the moment of contentment with that in mind.

_I'm not sure I could go through this again – not on my own. But I don't think I'll have to._


	6. Dreams you have

**A/N: As promised (at least I think I did that, to specific reviewers anyway), here is chapter 6, nice and early since I won't be around to post for about a month :P I fully expect to have accumulated some reviews by then to help me along with the chapters I'm still tweaking now, so please do give me that feedback! The last thing I want to do is screw this story up 0.0 Anyway, here are a couple of terms before we move along:**

*** "Make a hole!" – this expression is, as far as I can tell, military-specific and simply means "Make way! Coming through!"**

***HAZMAT – short form of Hazardous Materials; I may have listed this somewhere in my original fic, so I apologise for the redundancy if that is the case. **

Disclaimer: Square Enix owns FFXIII and all its characters, but seriously, I think this is way more interesting :P

Dreams you have (you save)

"_Vrooom_, _vroooooooom_!"

Dajh's energetic voice floated down the stairs and met Serah's ears the moment she walked in the entrance to the shelter. The laughter and shouting continued as she reached their floor, narrowly escaping injury when a blur of black, pink, brown and turquoise flashed before her eyes.

_Oh, boys. Why do they have to be so adorable and yet so…dangerous?_

When they stopped at the wall, Hope collapsing to the floor as he panted and Dajh just cackling as he reached down to pull on Hope's sleeve, she could see that Dajh had been riding some sort of wheeled cart.

"Again! Let's go again!" he squealed with delight.

Hope threw an arm over his eyes. "Ugh…ten rounds is my limit, kid."

"Aww, _man_. Don't be such a wuss!"

"Hey," Hope said defensively, "where'd you even _learn_ that word? I'm not a wuss, I just got sent off with Gadot today for his _insane_ workout, and it nearly killed me! Little kids like you have too much energy for your own good – mind passing some on to me?"

His expression dissolving into confusion, Dajh just asked, "How am I s'posed to do _that_?"

"Oh good grief… Just give me a low-five and let me take a breather."

"Okay!" He promptly held out his hand for the low-five, and Hope reached up tiredly to slap his chubby palm.

Giggling to herself at the exchange, Serah finally walked down the hall and made her presence known. "Alright guys – where did _this_ thing come from?"

"The shop!" Dajh blurted cheerfully as he hopped off the cart. "Hope _made_ it for me!"

Hands on her hips, she stared down the instigator stretched out at her feet. "Oh really?"

Exhausted as he was, Hope still lifted himself to his elbows and explained in an apologetic tone, "Well, Dajh seemed kind of bored over here in the afternoons lately, and Yuj brought in all these useless junk parts the other day, so I thought…yeah." He fumbled and abandoned that track. "Maybe it wasn't the best idea."

"Oh no, I_ love_ the idea," Serah said with a sharp little grin, "just not in the hall on the _third floor _of a community shelter."

Hope could only sheepishly gather himself and his wounded pride up from the floor and stand. "Right, sorry then," he mumbled, fidgeting uncomfortably with the back of the bandanna, and Serah realised that she had come across a little too harsh. She lightly grasped the collar of his coveralls and pulled him closer.

"I'm not _really_ mad, Hope," she whispered. "That cart looks like a blast, but maybe outside would be best. Just consider yourself lucky that round _eleven_ won't have to start now."

He jumped at the shift to understanding. "Oh. Got it," he whispered, beginning to smile in relief. "And thanks."

Turning back to Dajh, he called out, "Well, it looks like we'll need to find a new location tomorrow. Let's call it a day!"

"Ya don't gotta look so _happy_ about it," Dajh pouted.

It lifted Serah's spirits considerably every day she came home to those scenes, watching Hope finish his recovery and just be _normal_ again. In addition to his time in the barracks, two months of decent food and careful supervision between the safe locations of his home and work, as restrictive as it sometimes seemed, had done him a world of good both physically and emotionally. He hadn't had an unpleasant run-in with PSICOM since the day he left the quarantine facility, and he continued to progress daily in training with Maqui.

Adding to the overall upbeat atmosphere in the household, Serah had been cleared to return to her own training at the clinic several weeks before. She couldn't remember the last time she had felt so motivated in her studies while simultaneously so at peace in her home. Usually, one or the other was missing – more often than not, the latter.

_It's as much as I could possibly expect right now, while we wait for the Corps to find out something about Snow's and Sis' location. Dwelling on that is useless._

As they settled into the room after dinner, Serah was content to watch and listen, waiting for Dajh to wind down and probably fall asleep doodling on his ratty old sketchpad and for Hope to say he'd make the tea. Things were going along without a hitch, until she saw Hope's mouth twist in pain when he struggled to take off his sneakers.

"What's wrong?" she asked immediately, putting aside the anatomy textbook Ann had sent home with her to study.

Looking up at the sudden break in silence, he said hesitantly, "I think-I think my shoes are too tight. I didn't have this problem before the laundry last week so… maybe they shrank in the dryer after I washed them. Can shoes _shrink_?"

_Oh if that isn't the cutest thing I've _ever_ heard… _

She couldn't help but grin ridiculously. "No, silly. Shoes don't shrink. You just out_grew_ them."

"I'm an idiot," he muttered, covering his mortified expression with his hands. "Just…throw something at me already."

_Why not? Could brighten up his mood._

"Okay," she said easily, picking up Dajh's stuffed animal from beside the recliner and chucking it straight at his head. It bounced off and landed uselessly in the middle of the floor.

"Oww…" Hope grumbled, rubbing the point of impact. "It wasn't a _literal_ request. But if _that's_ how it's gonna be…" He jumped up from the floor with more energy than he'd displayed all evening, ran around to grab one of the pillows from the bed, charged over, and brought it down on her arms where she had blocked her head at the last second.

She shrieked and laughed at the assault, arms flailing as she tried in vain to grapple the pillow away. "Okay, okay! I only hit you _once_, crazy boy!"

"That thing has a _button nose_!" he rebuked, but he was laughing too, and after maybe five swings of the pillow, he relinquished the fight. "_Now_ I say we're even."

As he started to walk away with the pillow, she caught hold of the edge of the case and declared, "That's what _you_ think. This means _war_." Somehow wrenching the thing from his grasp, she swung the feathery object at his knees, making him leap out of the way and sprint for the bed to gather the remaining pillow.

"I wanna play too!" Dajh piped up, abandoning his artwork. "I can fight!"

"Hide, Dajh, _hide_!" Hope shouted as he rolled under the bed, dragging his new weapon along. His muffled voice came out from behind the dust-ruffle, warning the boy, "She's on a rampage – grab your pillow and defend yourself!"

Serah had already taken a few swings under the edge of the bed nearest the sound. "Avast! Come out from under there, coward! You must be _vanquished_, or I'll never get to study!"

"You can't just yell 'Avast!' and expect me to believe you're a _pirate_, Serah!" he quipped when he finally emerged from the opposite side, nearly doubling over with laughter once the words escaped his mouth. Pulling the bandanna from his back pocket, he tossed it across the bed to her. "Now, one more time – with feeling!"

She tied it over her head and narrowed her eyes menacingly, brandishing the pillow high in the air – as effectively as one could _brandish_ it – and forcing the smile from her face.

"_Avast!_ Ye shall be vanquished, for the sake of my homework!"

From there, the evening descended into chaos. Once the feathers finished floating to the ground and it was determined that Hope's pillow had been sacrificed along with _both_ of them on the altar of dignity, it was past Dajh's bedtime.

Thankfully, the little boy had given up the fight, conked out and fallen on his own 'weapon' a short time before they called a cease-fire. He laid there drooling on the pillow, one arm draped over his Nautilus stuffed animal as he snored lightly.

"Well… I gotta say," Hope declared breathlessly, lifting the deflated pillowcase like a white flag, "that low-five of his really _did_ give me a second wind."

Serah shook with painful, silent laughter. "Guess this means _I_ win," she said finally, returning to the recliner and begrudgingly taking up the textbook once again.

"Yeah. I'd _definitely_ call this a loss." Hope shuffled over to the side of the bed, stripped off the coveralls and kicked them into a pile, then crashed face first on the mattress, limbs sprawling. "So tired…shower in the morning…"

_Well, great. Now he doesn't have a pillow, and it's all _my_ fault. So much for maturity._

Quietly crossing to the bed, she lifted his head and slid her pillow beneath it.

"Serah… I don't…need it…" he slurred.

"Nope. I insist." She pulled the covers over him and smoothed his hair, then went right back to studying. Worn out but happy, she didn't mind when her eyes drooped shut and the book fell to her lap as she sank into the recliner, unwilling to move from the spot.

_Why can't every day be like this one?_

* * *

Serah woke when something warm and fragrant wafted up to her nose. Her back and neck felt a bit stiff, but her head was surprisingly cushioned, face brushing smooth fabric.

_Oh. Hope must've returned the pillow._

Sure enough, when she cracked her eyes open, there it was. And there _he_ was as well, looking uncharacteristically alert for the early hour as he knelt next to the chair with a steaming cup of tea, directly below her line of vision. From its scent, she knew he'd found the stash of spiced tea in the bottom dresser drawer.

"Sorry I wrecked your pillow," he said, tilting his head sideways to look her in the eyes. "Want some apology tea?"

Brow knit in confusion, she mumbled sleepily, "What do you mean, wrecked _my_ pillow?"

"We'd switched from the start. Mine has this-this little blood-stain, so I know it was the one to survive the battle. At least yours went down with honor in the line of duty."

Even as early as it was, the serious tone with which he had spoken those words had her in stitches. She buried her face in the pillow, whosever it was, and burst into giggles.

A few seconds later, Serah sat up and tried to collect herself. "Well in that case," she replied, wiping tears and sleep from her eyes, "I'll definitely take that tea."

"Does this mean you also forgive me for killing your study time?" he asked, voice hopeful and eyes pleading.

_Ugh, as if I wouldn't forgive that face. Impossible._

"Yes, Hope – I mean, I _started_ it…not that I don't appreciate the gesture. Anyway, you should probably get to the shop," she said, morphing back into the responsible adult as she paused in thought and took the tea from him, sipping it cautiously. "And don't forget to ask the guys about some work boots."

"Sure, I'll—" Hope began, but his expression turned perplexed and he stood, reaching a hand toward her head.

"What are you—?"

She felt a tug on her hair just before he retracted his hand with the bandanna, smirking, and tied it on his own head.

"Oh. Guess I forgot." Blushing in embarrassment at her childish behavior and general forgetfulness, she tucked into the tea with fervor.

Hope was already at the door, one hand on the frame. "Don't worry about it," he called out as he stepped through. "And I bid you a fine day on the high seas, Pink Beard!"

Dajh somehow chose that _very _moment to pop up in his bed, instantly awake. "Ahoy, Pink Beard!" he called out, kicking off the covers. Somehow, she knew he would be repeating the nickname for at least a week.

_Hope, you are going to pay. Defeat in pillow-fighting is far from sufficient._

But her pride wasn't truly wounded. Deep down, a part of her wished she could keep playing.

_Sis, did you feel this way? Did you ever just want to have some _fun_ with me?_

* * *

"To what do I owe this spectacular mood today?" Ann asked pointedly, barely two minutes into their session on IV prep and insertion.

Serah shot her an incredulous look. "What do you mean? I thought I was _always _in a good mood."

"You _are_ always in a good mood. Thus the distinction in the word 'spectacular.' Are there leads on finding your family, or is this something entirely different?"

_What is she _getting_ at?_

"No, nothing like that," Serah replied, feeling somewhat defensive as she snapped on the latex gloves, "but the last time I checked, being _happy_ was a good thing in itself, for whatever reason."

Ann simply continued in her task, hanging the bag of fluid from its stand. "True, true…but I have to wonder, does this have anything to do with that boy you're still taking care of?"

_Is this a trick question?_

Gradually becoming more frustrated at the motive behind her sudden interrogation, Serah stiffened and replied in a slightly too emphatic tone, "Of _course_ it does! Why on Pulse wouldn't it? For your information, he's been doing _really_ well, and it's a _huge_ relief, and I don't see why it's _bugging_ you so much that I _am_ in a 'spectacular' mood."

Ann gave up arranging the IV components for the moment and turned, leveling her with a serious stare. "As nice as it is to know that he's improving, that's beside the point. Serah…please don't take this the wrong way, but Hope is _fifteen_, and I think you're becoming a bit too dependent on him. A lack of parenting is no excuse for that – your other friends seem to be functioning fine without theirs."

"_What_?" Serah exclaimed in astonishment, her green gloved hands gesturing defensively. "How am I _not_ supposed to take that the _wrong_ way? Furthermore, we all depend on each _other_! That's _always_ how we've 'functioned'!"

The patient on the bed groaned in his sedated sleep, and Serah slapped a hand over her mouth, her growing irritation threatening to continue in a string of high-pitched exclamations.

Instead of immediately refuting Serah's claim, the doctor stepped away from the sick-bed and took a seat along the wall. She patted the seat next to her and requested politely, "Please, sit down."

"I'll stand, thank you."

Ann sighed and shook her head. "Then at least let me explain myself, without any rude interruptions, young lady." At Serah's curt nod, she continued.

"I wasn't born yesterday. I can see that your moods follow him like clockwork. And I'm not accusing you of anything inappropriate – it's clear that you love your fiancé dearly and cannot wait for him to come back – but I have to wonder if you may be giving yourself _and_ Hope something like a false sense of security. What do you think is going to happen when Snow _does_ return, and your attention is suddenly diverted? That he'll simply accept the change and disappear?"

The doctor paused to give Serah room for comment, but her mouth had tightened into a thin line. She had no idea what to think or say. Qualifying her point, Ann simply continued, "I know Hope seems very mature, but boys his age are extremely vulnerable, and you're becoming far too attached for either of you to adjust to that sort of change without a measure of unnecessary pain. After what happened when he was released from quarantine, I would think you'd see my point. Believe me, I wouldn't have brought this up without legitimate concern."

Her spectacular mood thoroughly shattered into bits, Serah finally opened her mouth to respond, but nothing would come out. All sorts of doubts had begun to creep in, eating away at her indomitable optimism and choking off nearly every shred of rational thought. In the end, she absently walked to the offered chair, sinking down and supporting her heavy head with her hands.

_Oh no…what if she's right? What if she's right and it _is _going to crush him, or crush _me_, or turn into some unfixable mess? Even Sis was up in arms about letting Snow take me away from her, and she's _older_ than me – it's not like she depended on me at all! But what can I do about it _now?

It was at least a full minute later when she stammered, "I didn't think – I mean maybe it's because it was always at the back of my mind that…well, what if the others _don't_ come back? I hate being alone – absolutely _hate_ it. I was so _lonely_ when Sis joined the military, but then I had Snow…and I lost them both at the same time! I've lost them _twice_ now! And Hope's in the same boat. So even if-if we're all just _coping_, why is _not_ being alone anymore such a problem? Is that really so bad?"

"No, dear," Ann said in a soothing voice, "that's not _bad_. But if anything happened to that boy right now, I'm afraid you might fall to pieces. You should branch out, try to spend more time with your other friends that care about you, and see that he does the same. It's a very simple adjustment, as long as you start preemptively."

_I'm sure that's logical advice, but…they don't understand me the same way he does. They don't _need _me. And you can't just treat a relationship like some disease – it's not like a cancer, something that needs to be eradicated because it grows beyond the norm. Been there, tried to just shut him out and failed. Good things shouldn't need to be surgically removed._

_And Hope is a good thing. He's my family, now._

Somehow, a fragile determination rebuilt itself inside Serah, and she sat up straight, turning to look Ann in the eyes.

"I appreciate the advice, and I'll try to be more aware, but the fact remains: I said I would take responsibility for him. I'll make sure that nothing happens to him, and so will our friends. No amount of change is going to make me back down from that, even when Snow _does_ wake up – we'll just have to cross that bridge when we get to it."

Looking pleasantly surprised at her change in attitude, Ann smiled and adjusted her glasses, standing as she remarked, "Well, that sounds like a solid approach. Perhaps I should have a little more faith in people – it seems to do well by you. Now, are you up for that first unassisted IV insert?"

"I think I can handle it," Serah said confidently, moving with purpose to the tray of assorted instruments and components. She took up the clamped tubing and carefully attached it to the bag.

_It's about time I handled some things on my own._

* * *

By the end of the day, Serah had decided to drop by the workshop and take the first step toward following Ann's advice – to an extent. She changed out of her scrubs and took off down the partially gravel-paved street toward the warehouse district with several objectives already in mind. It would be an altogether longer trip home, but she almost looked forward to the change of pace.

_Maybe I can make some plans with Lebreau for the weekend, or see if the guys are up to anything fun. Either way, I can at least make sure Hope remembered to ask about those boots._

_Oh crap._

She smacked her palm against her forehead in frustration. "I have got to stop worrying so much! He_ said_ he would get them. It's not like I have any reason to doubt it," she muttered to herself, continuing to stomp down the path.

Head still buzzing with anxious thoughts and self-condemnation as she walked into the Guardian Corps complex, it wasn't until a flying rock smacked her in the arm that Serah looked up to the commotion engulfing the entire block.

"Is something on_ fire_?" she whispered incredulously to herself, instantly making a beeline for the workshop despite her better judgment.

_What is going _on?

She honestly didn't know how to process the sights and sounds as she passed between the first two buildings on the street. Some force unseen was blowing smoke and stirring up debris like a whirlwind, and through the haze she could see that a massive, dark shape – one that looked suspiciously like some piece of machinery – towered farther ahead at the center of it all, apparently not _moving_ but likely responsible for the grating engine roar that assaulted her ears. As the dust began to sting her eyes and a few more pieces of gravel peppered her exposed arm where it shielded her face, she veered abruptly to the right, running to the nearest building to duck behind a crate.

Minutes later, the engine fired off a series of loud explosions like a barrage of gunfire, then sputtered and died. Serah popped her head above the top of her temporary shelter, watching as a number of Guardian Corps soldiers darted out of their respective workshops and charged toward their comrades who were already shouting on the scene, more and more of them visible as the smoke cleared.

Someone grabbed her arm and broke the trance. "Serah? _Maker_, what are you _doing_ out here?" Lucil shouted in her ear, already dragging her out from behind the crate and across the path toward the shop.

"Lucil…what _is_...that thing?" she called out in vain, her voice broken and rasping from the effect of sucking in smoky air as they sprinted to shelter. "How did it…get in…the _street_?"

"_Breathe_ now…ask later!"

They had skirted along the face of the warehouses just left of the hunk of metal responsible for all the trouble – from what Serah could tell at closer range, it had to be some sort of aircraft. At least a dozen soldiers, along with Lebreau, all had their guns trained on the front of the ship, their leader shouting repeatedly over a megaphone, "Drop your weapons and fall back to the cargo bay! I say again, drop your weapons…" Simultaneously, an entry team was already working with cutting torches and various tools to wrench open the large hatch on the end closest to them. Stopping abruptly to pull Serah into the raised roll-up entryway of the shop, Lucil watched their progress from a tense crouch.

She waved for Serah to squat down next to her, and they took in a collective breath.

"After all this, I've gotta see the culprit. Crazy guy took off in the transport with the boys inside!" Lucil muttered, just loud enough for Serah to hear without yelling.

"_What?_" Serah exclaimed immediately, eyes wide with terror. "You mean Hope and Maqui are_ inside_ that thing with some _hijacker_?"

Lucil nodded once, keen eyes still following the entry team. "First hijacker I've ever heard of that could start up a _busted_ ship – the whole reason Maqui went in there was to start _repairing_ the piece of junk! And he said Hope needed a bigger challenge than velos, so yeah…they both got trapped."

_Please tell me it's not as bad as I think. Please tell me PSICOM hasn't worked some scheme from the inside…_

"_Now!_" the entry team leader shouted suddenly, and soldiers on either side of the cargo hatch began to push against their crow-bars – the metal shrieked and groaned from the force, finally swinging down and crashing to the ground with a loud, echoing twang.

Serah could have sworn her heart stopped in the brief space of minutes it took for the team to rush into the ship and reemerge with the two coughing, staggering boys in tow, nearly unrecognisable from their partially blackened clothing and dust-covered faces. Without thinking, she was on her feet and closing the distance – thankfully, Lucil seemed to have the same idea.

Meanwhile, Lebreau nearly knocked over some of the entry team members when she charged around from the other end of the ship, apparently with the same goal in mind, and barrelled through the huddle of bodies with her eyes fixed on the slightly taller boy in their midst.

Maqui had casually jerked the goggles off his eyes and onto his head, giving his face an inverted raccoon-look; he promptly whacked his apprentice on the back, causing him to expel a series of coughs. Once Hope stopped hacking and pulled off his own safety googles, he caught one look at Lebreau's driving approach and jumped out of the way as she pounced on Maqui, shouting what sounded like corrective words while choking him in a hug nonetheless.

But as Serah and Lucil reached the back of the group, all three of their friends disappeared from view beyond the heads of several taller members of the team.

"Hey, make a hole!" Lucil shouted, and a couple of the other soldiers gave the lowly private hard glares, but they stepped aside when they caught sight of Serah.

Hope looked up instantly at the new arrivals. "_Serah_? What are you doing out_—_"

She cut him short with a tackling hug, not even bothering to explain.

_You're safe, safe, _safe_._

Mindful of the constraint when he let out a little cough, she backed off. "Sorry, sorry but…are you_ okay_? What happened?"

"Oh yeah, we're fine – we cut the power ourselves and it kinda blew up in there. Takes a_ lot _more than an electrical fire to take _us_ out!" he said, chuckling in the midst of the coughs from smoke inhalation. He gave her an amused look. "Can't say the same for your outfit, though."

Looking down at the fresh soot stains on her white shirt and pleated skirt that had rubbed off from his lightly burned coveralls, she really couldn't care less about ruining them for a second time. But when Maqui and Lebreau both started rolling with laughter, her face flamed up in spite of herself.

_I don't ever think these things through, do I?_

"What are _you_ laughing at?" she snapped at Lebreau – whose clothing was equally sooty – but the girl just shook her head and giggled even more.

"Nothing," she finally choked out, "I just hope you know my supply of stain remover is _limited_."

It would have blown over after that, but Maqui made the mistake of opening his big mouth. "What she means to say is your stain pattern is a little more, uh…striking."

"What are you _talking_ about?" Serah asked, missing whatever point was being made. From the way Hope had deliberately looked down, she assumed it was pretty mortifying, but there was no time to dwell on it. A sudden burst of _actual _gunfire came from within the transport at that moment, initiating a round of jumbled shouting, rapid footsteps pounding on metal, and what sounded like a brief struggle. There was a moment of relative silence, followed by the thudding of more confident, measured steps that rose in volume as the remaining entry team gradually neared the mouth of the open hatch, to the point that Serah could hear what must have been the voice of their captive echoing from farther back in the ship.

"Hey, you'd best watch yourself handlin' my guns!" he called out, bold even in his predicament. "They're worth ten times more than this lemon of a transport!"

_Who does this guy think he _is?_ He is _so_ getting a piece of my mind when this winds down…_

But beside her, Hope instantly perked up at the voice, darting away from them and directly toward the team just coming into view on the ramp.

"Wait! Don't get so close!" Serah called out, running after him automatically, and she could hear Lucil, Maqui and Lebreau all cursing and chasing him as well.

Lucil outpaced them all and grabbed the back of his coveralls, stopping the boy short. "What the hell do you think you're _doing_?" she shouted, but he just struggled in vain for a few seconds, finally giving up and whipping around.

"That's _Sazh_!" he cried out desperately, gripping her arms. "They've got _Sazh_ in there!"

Not in the least willing to release him, Lucil just shouted back, "I don't know who the hell you _think_ that is, but if he's the guy that tried to steal our ship then you're not going anywhere _near _him!"

_Sazh? Is that possible? Then again, Hope _would_ be the only one who'd recognise him. _

That turned out to be untrue. As soon as the team came out in the open and dragged forward the hijacker in question, Serah knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that the man _had _to be Dajh's father. Any thoughts to the contrary were erased when a tiny yellow bird flew from somewhere in the nest of his dark hair and let out a shrill "Kweh!"

_Well _that_ settles it. Unless there is _another_ pilot out there with a chocobo living in his fro._

"Stop!" she called out, and both Lucil and Hope quit struggling and looked to her. "That is _definitely_ Sazh."

Turning back, both of them jumped at the sight, and Hope took advantage of the soldier's stunned state to wriggle free and sprint up the ramp, calling out all the way, "Sazh! Sazh, it's me!"

"You little…ugh!" Lucil muttered, but she halted in her chase when Hope collided with the confused prisoner and was, shortly after, hugged _back_. The soldiers around had no idea how to react, so they simply backed off and kept their guns in the standby position.

Presently, the man held Hope at arm's length, regarding the soot-covered kid that seemed to know him. "What the – _Hope_? That you under there?" He pulled the bandanna from his head, mussing the sweaty mop of silver hair.

"Ha, sure looks like it!"

"Of _course_ it's me!" Hope laughed. "Get your eyes checked, old man!"

"Hey now! You weren't _filthy_ last time I saw you."

Serah broke out in a wide grin, making her way toward the reunion. She could hear the entry team leader's incredulous tone as he relayed the change in situation over his communicator.

When she tapped Hope on the shoulder, he turned abruptly and smiled, blurting out, "Serah! Let's take him home _now_ – Dajh is gonna flip!"

Sazh's jaw dropped, and he stumbled over his words. "He's…not crystallized anymore? You-you _really_ have my son with you?" he asked, disbelief overtaken with relief and curiosity as he appraised Serah, who simply nodded to let him give vent to all the questions she knew would be coming.

Surprisingly, his inquiries took a different turn. "Hey, you're _that_ girl – the crazy soldier's sister. So what kind o' mischief have she and the hero been up to—?" he remarked blithely, stopping short when Serah's eyes fell away at the mention of their still-absent companions. He scratched uneasily at the back of his head.

"Heh, well… guess that means Lightning and Snow are the only ones… aw, not that it'll be for long. I just gotta wonder when they'll show!"

His eyes were suddenly full of sympathy, but he was tactful enough to turn the comment around, rather than come out and say what she knew he was thinking –_You really got the bad end of this deal, little girl._

"Your guess is as good as ours," Hope muttered under his breath.

Serah looked over to him at those words, gauging his reaction. His face was a mirror to what she felt – a heart-rending combination of desperate optimism and the corrosive doubt that ate around its edges. But then and there, in that moment, they both brightened up again at the thought of the rising joy that was about to wash over Dajh and his father, just as soon as they could leave.

Turning back to Sazh, Serah reached out her hand. "Well, it's nice to meet you. I'm Serah Farron, and I've been watching Dajh since you guys umm…pretty much saved Cocoon. So thanks for that."

"It's lookin' like I'm the one that owes _you_ thanks here," Sazh replied, shaking her hand.

"Alright, everybody get back!" Lieutenant Gippal's familiar voice rang over the whole group, jarring them from the moment of happiness. He strode up the ramp with a vengeance, and Serah instinctively pulled Hope aside to give him room.

Standing face to face with Sazh, the lieutenant looked, for lack of a better description, like he didn't know quite how to 'rant' at the guilty man in proper military fashion. He finally crossed his arms, shifted his weight to his right foot in the usual cocky pose and said, "Look, I got the report, Sazh Katzroy, and I have to ask – former l'Cie or not, why the hell did you break into my transport and try to fly it outta the warehouse? Just explain yourself. We're not gonna arrest you or anything _dramatic_ like that."

"Well I sure do appreciate that," Sazh began, trying to tone down his smirk. "I_ tried_ to fly that hunk o' junk because I woke up in some dark room guarded by soldiers – didn't exactly get the memo that l'Cie got scratched from the military's 'kill on sight' list. I saw the ship and winged it. Mind tellin' me where we are, while we're standin' out here, by the way? Can't say I've seen the _sun_ in a while."

"Oh, uh…fine then," Gippal said, caught-off-guard at the man's unflinchingly direct response. "Cocoon's over there," he explained, pointing northward to the massive crystal sphere dwarfing everything else in sight. "So in case you haven't guessed, we're _on_ Pulse, in the middle of a half-assed settlement project. I guess I can't fault you for thinking the military would take you out anyway – the Corps is on your side, but let me be the first to warn you that PSICOM isn't too keen on having l'Cie wandering around, and they've made it pretty clear."

Catching the chocobo chick out of the air before it lighted on the lieutenant, Sazh replied with the slightest trace of impertinence, "Thanks for the head's up."

"Yeah, sure. But before you go thinking everything's squared away, be warned – I'm not usually too friendly to people who nearly _barbecue_ my best mechanic _and_ his apprentice in some harebrained escape attempt. If you wanna fly my transport, wait till the guys finish working on it. _Then_ submit a request chit. We clear?"

It was odd hearing Gippal take such a defensive posture, and Serah was pleasantly surprised to see Sazh think better of his attitude and give a halfway-decent salute.

"We're clear, Sir."

Once the tension had lifted, Serah finally spoke up. "Would it be alright if we took Sazh back with us now, Sir? I'm sure he wants to see his son…"

He instantly rounded on her. "Serah, if you ever call me 'Sir' again, I'm gonna enlist you," Gippal threatened, but he cracked a smile. "And yeah, get him out of my sight." He jerked his head and waved Sazh on like a road guard impatiently signaling traffic.

"_Go_ – don't you _dare_ keep that kid waiting!"

Hope practically leaped with excitement. "Great, let's go!" he exclaimed, pulling at Serah's arm and starting down the ramp, but the lieutenant grabbed hold of his collar before he made it two steps.

"Oh _no_ you don't," he corrected. "Get your charcoal ass to the first-aid ward right this _second_. Maqui can fill out the incident report, but you are _not_ leaving without the go ahead from one of the field medics."

"But I _live_ with a medic!" Hope complained. His face still suggested compliance though – he didn't actually expect to get off. Not that she wanted him to.

_Better leave this to the professionals. I haven't covered smoke inhalation and burn response just yet._

"Nope. I'm not stupid – she's still in training status. Now _move_ it!" Gippal gave him a light shove in the right direction, and Hope ran off toward the first-aid ward down the block where Maqui already stood. Serah chuckled to herself at how he somehow managed to sulk at high speed.

_I think it's something he does with his shoulders._

Turning back to Sazh, Serah shrugged. "Well, let's head out. Don't worry about Hope – he may _beat _us home if we take too long!"

"What?" Sazh asked incredulously, stopping mid-jog at the base of the ramp. "I may be old, but I'm not _that _slow."

Chuckling to herself, Serah explained, "No, no – I _mean_ I can almost guarantee he's gonna talk Lucil into bringing him over on the velo. And trust me, those things are a_ lot_ faster than both of us."

"Ah," Sazh replied, scratching his beard. "If there's one thing I've learned from this whole l'Cie mess, it's that it pays to have connections. _You_ seem to have 'em in spades!" The way he held his chin and looked up thoughtfully tipped her off that he might have gotten the idea to follow Hope's example for means of transport.

"Maybe, but I prefer to walk. There's only so many velos, you know." She skipped ahead of him casually and waved toward the shop where Lebreau and Lucil had taken up a post, standing by for things to calm down. Lebreau instantly ran up to hand off an extra set of coveralls and a sweater, along with the overused tube of heavy-duty stain treatment.

"Maqui pulled these out for Hope – sorry about the length, but Yuj was the only one with a spare set. The sweater's for _you_, and I would get that outfit clean ASAP, _trust_ me," she warned, obviously trying not to laugh, before turning her dark eyes on the approaching stranger tagging along. "As for _you_, pilot-guy – just be glad you're _walking_ away from that stunt you pulled." She winked, her own special version of a quirky threat.

Sazh's eyebrows flew up in surprise, but he fell in beside Serah with a spring in his step. "Hey, you won't hear _me_ complain. It feels heavenly to walk – mainly since we're walkin' _home_."

_I'm sure Dajh _is_ home to you. Guess I'm lucky to have multiple residences._

* * *

Serah spent the thirty-five minute walk back to the shelter answering any number of Sazh's questions. She filled him in on the condition of Cocoon after the landing, the situation in the settlement, Hope's arrival and adjustment, PSICOM's latest intrusion and the extraction of Snow and Lightning, but most of all, Dajh's life for the past few months. Grateful for the mild winter they seemed to be having that year, she barely needed the sweater wrapped around the front of her stained clothing as they made their way across the south end of the settlement, winding through the numerous incomplete structures still popping up as the residential district expanded.

A drifting crowd of people travelled along the same path, returning from their respective work positions on projects in the outskirts or at budding businesses in the north-central areas of the settlement. Recognising some familiar faces, Serah waved or returned greetings as usual, but all in all, it was much more pleasant to walk with another person for a change.

"Huh, looks like we did beat Hope back," she remarked as they arrived at the shelter, neither seeing nor hearing a velocycle in the vicinity.

Once they had stepped through the doors, Sazh surveyed the inside of the temporary structure with a scrutinizing gaze. "So, you say Dajh is in some kind of preschool right now?"

"Yes – it's really more of a mixed group, and they try to cater to different learning levels, so I think it's doing him some good," she replied. "In fact, he's still in the class right now, since Hope hasn't gotten back yet. Wanna go surprise him?"

"Girl, you don't need to ask. Lead on."

Upon reaching the door to the common room, Serah could see visible excitement had built up in every fiber of Sazh's being – he kept shifting his stance and alternately taking down the chocobo chick or putting it back in his hair. When they stepped into the classroom, Sazh anxiously scanned the room of children.

Tavi looked over from the sniffling child she was trying to console with a new book – likely far more desirable than the one he had given up for another student to have a turn. She snapped up from her crouch at the sight of the strange man, but she broke out in a huge grin once she made the connection.

"Hi there," she said cheerfully, crossing the room and shaking Sazh's hand with her own marker-and-glue stained one. "You're Dajh's father, right? So nice to meet you!"

He was still in a daze, looking around her head for any sign of Dajh, but he managed to reply, "Oh, uh, nice meetin' you too, but…I don't see my son anywhere."

"Is he on a bathroom break?" Serah inquired, ready to seek him out herself.

Tavi shook her head. "No, you just missed him. Hope picked him up a few minutes ago – looked like he'd run right off the scene of an explosion!"

_What? How did he…?_

At that, the two of them dismissed themselves in a blur of hurried courtesies, both puzzled by how it was even possible that Hope had gotten such a head-start. They rushed up the stairs and down the hall, the momentum carrying over with surprising force as Serah burst through the door, breathing hard.

Sure enough, both boys were waiting expectantly. Sazh quickly got his bearings and squatted down, arms automatically reaching out once his eyes fixed on his son standing there in the center of the room, stock-still with his prized drawing from the wall held out in his little hands. Dajh's mouth was open and his lip quivered like he had prepared to say something important. Hope gently nudged him forward.

"Umm…surprise!" Hope exclaimed, looking a little embarrassed that his plan hadn't quite played out as expected.

Dajh seemed to take it as a cue, and he instantly tossed aside the picture and leaped straight into his father's arms. "Daddy!" he cried. "I knew it! Hope didn't tell me who we had to surprise but I_ knew_ it!"

Serah could see the tears running down Sazh's face – he was too choked up in that moment to utter a single coherent sentence right away. He just squeezed the little boy and patted his hair, then held him back to see his face.

"Well, son," he finally said, "that was the_ best_ surprise I've ever had."

Dajh looked confused. "Why're you cryin' if it was the _best_?"

Laughing and wiping away the incriminating saline trails on his cheeks, Sazh explained simply, "Happy tears, son. You made me so happy I cried, and that's _somethin'_."

And it _was _something. Serah was fairly sure that the only person in the room _not_ crying in some amount was the six-year-old. Once Dajh had jumped up and began dragging his father around the room to show off all his accumulated things, she glanced over at Hope where he quietly leaned against the wall by the window, out of the way, and her suspicion was instantly confirmed. She caught him hastily wiping the sleeve of his coveralls across his face, trying to play it off like he was getting at some of the dirt there, but the filthy sleeve just smeared soot in with the liquid and dust already present to form a muddy mess – the result was that he looked like he was wearing war-paint, and Serah laughed in spite of her own tears.

In the background, Dajh kept moving around, every so often calling out something like, "And this is the cart Hope made me, and _this_ is Serah's favorite picture…" while his chocobo chick continued to fly circles around his head and kweh for attention. Not wanting to disturb their time as it was, she made her way around the happy, reunited family to Hope.

"What?" he mumbled, looking up at her arrival and the sound of a short chuckle, but not meeting her eyes. "I can have happy tears _too_."

She toned her amusement down a notch. "Hey, I didn't say _anything_." Patting his matted hair, she handed him the spare coveralls still tucked under her arm and said quietly, "That was really sweet of you, by the way. Now, you should probably go get cleaned up. Maqui sent these – they're a little big, but your coveralls are a total wreck. It's going to take _two_ washes to get this stuff out!"

He sniffed once, then smiled mischievously. "Thanks, I know I really did a number on mine. But I've gotta say, you're one to talk. Your shirt's got a huge smiley face on it – that or a weirdly _happy_ electrical socket!"

"Okay…" she dragged out suspiciously, "well that's a pretty _original_ way to try and poke fun at me, but I don't see what you—"

Turning toward the reflective surface of the window, she _did _see. And he was right – the way the black soot had naturally smeared on her white blouse looked almost _exactly_ like a giant smiley face. Her cheeks burned, and she wrapped the sweater back around her shirt self-consciously.

_Well at least someone bothered to finally _tell_ me._

"Hey, it's not like I _tried_ to rub off on you," Hope teased, barely holding in his laughter. "But I suggest a nice side-hug next time, or maybe just a high-five."

Serah narrowed her eyes dangerously before taking him by the shoulders, turning him round, and marching him to the door. "Just _go_ – take your shower and-and clean your _mind_ out while you're at it!"

"Ease up!" he laughed, taking a leisurely pace down the hall. "I'm_ allowed_ to joke around."

"Not at _my_ expense!" When he didn't respond, she finally ducked back into the room, the 'responsible adult' within still feeling the sting of embarrassment.

_Did I pester Sis like this when I was his age? Surely not._

* * *

Without fail, there was _always_ laundry at the end of the day. The only times Serah _hadn't_ done it were not for a lack of dirty clothes, just a lack of energy to do anything about them. For those days, Hope was learning how to take over, and if Sazh and Dajh both were to remain a part of their household, the extra assistance was sure to become indispensible.

That particular night was a challenge. She had spread the soot- and dirt-soiled clothes on the lone table in the basement-level laundry room, working the stain- remover into the fibers of the fabric. Her hands and fingernails were already a solid charcoal gray, and little smears from them traced her every move if she casually scratched at her neck or stopped to tighten the drawstring on her pants. Thankfully, she cared nothing for the old t-shirt and sweats she wore for that sort of dirty work.

_Well, it gives me a little time alone to think. That's an upside, right?_

She knew she was lying to herself. Time alone to think meant time alone for her mind to stray, to trail off toward things she typically refused to let in – like how she still half-expected Lightning to swoop in and take out the enemies she knew were lurking in the shadows, or just to sit and talk for a while. Or worse yet, how she wished for Snow to fling open the door without ceremony and sweep her off her feet, kiss her like crazy and probably promise the moon.

Those thoughts had been locked up tight, but after seeing Sazh with his son, home and happy and _complete_…

_I'm glad they're back together – I _really_ am, and it means there is hope for Sis and for Snow once we find them, it's just…just…_

_So un_fair_._

A few hot tears escaped to splatter onto a particularly stubborn stain she was bent over, and she scrubbed the spot with a vengeance.

"_Exactly_ what I needed," she cried to herself, despairing in her pain and frustration that while her tears were insufficient to clean a single spot on the cloth, she couldn't seem to stop them from coming.

"Such…a _waste_…of time!" Sobbing, she refused to give up on the stain, but the foam building up from the remover had begun to slowly envelop her brush, unheeded. In her intense focus on the repetitive scrubbing motion, she shoved the brush forward and her hand slipped off the plastic backing, her knuckles raking across the rough fabric of the coveralls.

She instantly jumped back, pulling in her stinging hand as she let out a little yelp of pain. Sliding down onto the floor and nursing the injury, she inspected the tiny abrasions on the joints of her fingers and the side of her hand, minimal traces of blood blooming in front of her blurry eyes. The stain removing chemical burned against her raw skin.

It brought on a fresh wave of tears.

_I'm _hopeless_! And useless and weak and-and selfish! _This _is selfish! I should be finishing the laundry and making tea – not throwing some stupid pity party and raining on their parade. I can't stay here like this, crying like a baby because I can't fix my own problems. _No one_ can. But why did it have to be…why…?_

"Serah?"

Glancing through her bangs toward the voice, she saw Hope's concerned face in the doorway. In the next instant, he was kneeling in front of her. "Hey, c'mon it…can't be _that_ bad," he said softly, prying free the hand she held protectively to herself, and she winced.

"Whoa – how'd you do this to your hand?"

Too ashamed of herself to even look up at the boy who had just about _died_ barely three months before – and moreover, had lost _everyone_ he knew not even two months before that – she dried her face with the collar of her t-shirt and gripped the front of the cloth in a fist with her free hand, as if the motion could hold everything inside. Ribs and skin and jersey fabric just didn't seem like enough of a barrier between him and her self-pitying, sad excuse for a heart.

_The least I can do is _say_ something._

"It's-it's nothing," she forced out, her voice sounding thick in her ears. "I've gotten fabric burns before…"

She tried to pull her hand away, but he wouldn't budge. "Oh _no_ you don't – it's getting all inflamed from whatever this soapy stuff is, I think." He raised her hand to sniff the foam-covered area and immediately jerked his head back, coughing violently.

"Blech! That is the worst-smelling soap on the _planet_. _Please_ tell me it's not the detergent."

Unable to ignore his antics and her own amusement, surprising laughter bubbled up in Serah's stomach until she choked it out and tried to explain, "_No!_ It's _stain_ remover! And it's really, _really_ strong stuff."

His face instantly sobered up. "Sounds like HAZMAT to me," he announced, grabbing her by the shoulders and pulling her to her feet clumsily. "To the sink!"

Serah's hand was rinsed off, dried, and wrapped up in some random gauze from one of his pockets in minutes. She regarded the mitten-like dressing with a smirk, making a stiff, clamping motion and poking his shoulder with the useless appendage.

"I really appreciate it Hope, but I may have to take this off again – I'm not sure I can finish up the laundry without my right hand."

"Then I guess you can't do it," Hope said, grinning and rolling up the sleeves of his overly-long spare coveralls. He pulled the gloves from his pocket and put them on, adding with an exaggerated air of authority as he held up his index finger, "But in the future, you should _seriously_ consider following my example, and wearing gloves for this kind of stuff!"

Serah could tell that he was not going to be derailed – and she was giggling too much to fight it anyway. "Oh, good grief… let's just get this done!"

Through the use of something like an assembly-line process – Hope finishing up the stain scrubbing and Serah sorting items, loading the washer and measuring the detergent – they made excellent time knocking out the task, one load at a time. To Serah, that was simply a side-benefit to the real accomplishment of the night. Lighthearted conversation and the generally agreeable atmosphere surrounded her and seeped into her pores, pushing back the despairing thoughts that had weighed her down. If the weight of responsibility was, in fact, still sitting on her shoulders, its presence seemed negligible for that brief time.

And then Hope asked a question that threatened to bring it all back around.

"Serah," he began, passing off the last shirt of the load, "is there something about laundry that makes women just…break down? Because _I_ don't think it's a particularly depressing chore, but I-I know that earlier you weren't just crying about your hand getting scraped up."

_Maker, why did you have to bring it up?_

She cleared her throat, intent on redirecting. "What makes you even_ say_ that? Who _else_ do you know that had this alleged 'laundry room breakdown'?"

Hope gave her a look, the thoughts behind his expression shifting from _How dare you be in denial?_ to _Oh, no – now I have to _explain_ this._

"Well," he mumbled, looking down as he stripped off the dirty work gloves and shook out some excess suds, "I can't confirm the _cause_ or anything, but I know I heard my mom crying in the laundry room a few times. The last time was the day Dad cancelled on the Bodhum vacation. She really seemed fine for the rest of the day after he told her, but then she left to do some laundry and just…went to pieces. I still think I should've gone in there, but I was afraid I wouldn't know what to say. Like I'd just be standing there awkwardly and she'd be crying, and it would make everything _worse_. But this time, I wasn't just going to walk away—"

"Wait a minute," Serah cut in, lifting his chin to look him in the eyes. "You mean you heard… And that's _why_ you…"

His eyes flitted from left to right, trying to escape, but he finally gave up and fixed her with a pained stare. "_Yes_, I heard you. I just wanted to check in, see if you needed help, but I stopped outside because you were crying, and I-I couldn't…until I heard you make this squeak like you'd hurt yourself, and I decided – I decided to _do_ something."

He pulled back, stuffing his gloves and then his hands into his pockets and continuing with determination, "I thought maybe I could find some way to _stop _whatever-it-was that made you so sad all of the sudden. I would've just let it go, but I remembered how Mom would always _act_ happy when she just wasn't _thinking_ and she stayed busy with stuff, and I realised something – I never even_ asked_ her what was wrong in the first place!"

"So tell me, Serah. Tell me what's _really_ wrong."

No._ I am not dumping my problems onto you. Not when you're standing here talking about your mother who just _died _and has absolutely no chance of_ ever_ coming back._

Compliance was not forthcoming. Serah turned, dropped the forgotten shirt in her hand into the washer, closed the lid, and twisted the knob. The sound of churning water from the machine didn't quite have the drowning effect she had desired, but it was preferable to the heavy silence.

"It really wasn't anything to get worked up over," she replied dismissively, walking to the dryer on the other side of the room, opening the door and pulling out the warm, clean load to dump into an empty laundry basket. "Do you have any _idea_ how frustrating that smiley face was to scrub out?"

At first, Hope remained silent, absently kicking his heel against the leg of the table. "I uh…I'm sure it _did_ suck," he said quietly, sounding embarrassed that his attempt at consolation had come to nothing.

"Oh wait! I forgot to tell you," he added abruptly as she returned with the loaded basket. "I did get some boots. Wanna see?"

In spite of all that had transpired, he sounded so cautiously hopeful that she just couldn't turn him down. She owed him a cheerful response.

"Of course I do! Not too tight this time, right?"

"Definitely _not_," he emphasized. "I think they may have been Gadot's or something – I'll probably grow into_ Yuj's _coveralls before the boots fit!" He pulled at the excess fabric, lifting one pant leg up to show exactly what he meant.

Serah took a good look and appraised the new footwear. While she knew the situation wasn't as bad as it could have been – they were _not _Snow's massive thirty-three centimeter boots – the impression of disproportion was still ridiculous on the slender teenager. The image made her laugh so hard that she dropped the laundry basket on the ground and covered her mouth with one hand while holding her side with the other, her ribs aching as they spasmed.

Lowering the pant leg and crossing to pick up the discarded basket, Hope rolled his eyes at her laughter-distorted face and let out a mocking sigh of exasperation. "Yeah, laugh it up, twiggy – you're just jealous that_ I'm_ still growing and you aren't."

"You-you _got_ me," Serah finally responded, still winded but down to only the occasional giggle. "I'm just…so _destroyed_ that I'll never be as tall and strong as my sister…I could just _die_!" Covering her face and turning aside dramatically, she peeked over to see his reaction.

Hope smirked. "Yep. Congratulations! You've been screwed by genetics."

"Hey!" Serah shot back, hands on her hips in defiance, but a playful grin offset the pose. "For your information, Sis _hates_ being tall. She did nothing but complain about it for the last five _years_! So I'd say_ I'm_ the lucky one."

Looking almost offended, Hope blurted out, "But-but that's all _wrong_. You're her sister! Didn't you tell her she's perfect the way she is?"

"I guess I…didn't think about it," Serah replied, thrown by his sudden defense.

_Actually, the last person to tell her something like that was probably Mom. _Before _her last growth spurt. More importantly, is that what _you_ would tell her? Is that how _you _feel?_

He seemed to be giving her room to keep going, so she took full advantage. "It's not like she would've believed me, anyway. Maybe you should tell her yourself – I get the feeling she'd believe _you_."

"_What?_ There's no _way _I could say something like_ that_ to Light! She'd probably call me an idiot and knock me into eternity!" he immediately protested, face reddening considerably.

_Oh you _so _have a thing for my sister. It's precious._

Trying not to smile so wickedly at his dilemma, Serah pressed, "Don't _tell_ me you're too _afraid_ to tell her the truth – and I thought you two were close! Of course, it would be even _more_ pathetic if you were all grown up and _still_ couldn't tell her when she came back, now wouldn't it?"

"I'm not afraid," Hope muttered, getting redder by the second; his hands tightened around the rim of the basket. "And if she comes back after I'm grown up, I'll _show_ her how I feel." At that, he turned with the load of dry laundry and headed for the door, straightening his posture indignantly in a last-ditch effort to preserve the remnants of his fragile male ego as he left.

_Ha, I was right – his shoulders are about as expressive as his face. _

Even as embarrassed as he was, he managed to call back to her in a stiff voice, "I'll return the basket," before departing the room without another word.

The wide grin on Serah's face grew until it ached. She didn't expect Hope to ever admit just how much he thought of her sister, but it was both baffling and adorable that he _did_ think of her that way.

_Can't say I saw _this _coming. _


	7. Take your mind

**A/N: Okay, I PROMISE I AM NOT DEAD! But I just returned to my home, and am just now getting the chapter's end note added :P I apologise PROFUSELY for the delay, and do hope that half my readership won't have gone AWOL because of the wait. I SWEAR I am working hard on the next chapter, so expect yet another update VERY soon, REALLY *pleads for understanding* Would love some reviews to spur on the effort, in the midst of my recovery from major writer's block. Believe it or not, I have no new terms for you all, so read on!**

Disclaimer: Squeenix owns all of this, and they certainly took their sweet time…I have bitter memories of the FOUR YEAR WAIT for them to finally give us the game in the first place :P

Take your mind (away)

"What do you mean he's 'not available'?" Hope exclaimed, disbelief and disappointment permeating his voice and movements as he shoved the toolbox into its designated utility cabinet space. "He _was_ two days ago!"

Remaining out of the boys' line of sight, Serah peered through the partial cover of a sparsely filled metal shelf and carefully adjusted her grip on the wrinkled paper sack in her hands, once again the proverbial fly on the wall to the conversation. She never could get over how effortless it was to read Hope's moods at increasingly greater distances, and the passage of several months had served to magnify her ability – that or intensify his expressiveness.

_This is what, twenty meters? Might be a new record._

Maqui just grumbled, "You're not getting any sympathy from me. This is how it _always_ goes when you're working with the military – if something comes up, they've gotta drop everything and we've gotta wait it out."

_Truer words were never spoken. If Sis had some out-of-the-blue assignment, she was just…gone._

"Well it would be an awful lot easier if we knew _what_ we were waiting out," Hope muttered. "Didn't he even give you the _tiniest _piece of info on the mission?"

"Yeah, the part about it being totally _classified_." The mechanic walked up behind Hope and yanked the ponytail that trailed down a few inches below his bandanna. "Now try not to whine about it like a little girl."

"_Ow_, that's attached! And I'm not whining – it's _unhealthy_ to keep things bottled up," Hope retorted, frustration beginning to cool down to a very typical teenage sulk. He slouched back against the cabinet and tossed the wrench in his hand up in the air, catching it after precisely two rotations, over and over.

_At least he's _trying_ to take my advice and stop keeping everything to himself._

"I just wish their timing had been…different, I guess," he continued quietly. "Do you absolutely _have_ to start that radio communications training this week? Don't get me wrong – I'm sure I can cover your fixer-upper jobs even _faster_ without all the flying insults—"

"Hey, those are purely motivational!" Maqui interrupted. "I'll bet your work efficiency drops by at _least_ thirty percent when you're on your own." With that, he swiped the wrench out of the air and pocketed it.

Hope stood up stiffly, and even from her distant post Serah could practically feel him glower at his challenger. "You're _on_. And give me my wrench."

"It's_ not_ your wrench," Maqui enunciated, keeping his distance. "And if you don't _like_ the way things are going with this schedule, maybe you shouldn't've been so gung-ho about outperforming me – if you hadn't made hyper-speed progress, they wouldn't be putting us into two different training programs now. That is, unless your _goal _is to hurry up and get me outta your hair. Does it really suck that much having to work _with_ someone else?"

Uncertainty played across Hope's features as his hands came up defensively, and he clumsily replied, "No-no that's not what I was _trying_ to do, even though…yeah, sometimes I _do_ work better alone. And in the areas I can't handle by myself, I've got to improve so I don't need the assistance. Not because it _sucks_ to work with you – I mean, it's been fun and challenging and everything – just because…because…"

"Stop explaining, I _get_ it," Maqui finally said, before Hope could get any more uncomfortable in the effort. The mechanic casually pulled the wrench from his pocket and tossed it back to his apprentice, grinning at how distraught he had made himself. "You talk too much. Let's see some action."

Catching the wrench, Hope raised it in the air like a baton. "Can do!" But his enthusiasm died almost immediately, and he tossed the tool into a drawer as he tacked on, "Well, I _can_ if Gippal somehow finds time for my weapons mod training. Otherwise, there's not exactly much _to_ do around here. Even that junky transport's functional now, and I'm not _allowed_ to run errands."

"So do more chores at home. Put that ridiculously long hair of yours into pretty pigtails, don an apron and be the stay-at-home brother or something, I dunno," Maqui joked, ducking instinctively when Hope grabbed a wad of steel wool from the open drawer and hurled it at his head.

"Be glad it wasn't the _wrench_!"

Maqui just threw the steel wool back and laughed his head off. "Yeah right, Momma's Boy – you wouldn't hit me with a wrench for a million gil, and if by some fluke you_ tried_, I doubt it'd have enough force to make a scratch!"

_Oh no. That was pushing it._

Visibly seething, Hope had balled his hands into tight fists and gone totally rigid.

"Wanna bet?" he muttered in a low, hard voice.

At that point, Serah was compelled to interrupt before he made good on the threat.

"Guys, I brought snacks!" she called out, running over from her vantage point near the east doorway. It had been difficult to not give herself away for those few minutes of observation.

_It's just too cute when they argue, as long as no one ends up throwing a punch. Really can't have a repeat of last week – I had no _idea _noses bled so much! _

Both heads whipped over to face the woman bounding toward them with a paper sack. Hope's expression scrunched up a bit, his eyes complaining, _You got him off the hook _again?_ I totally _had _this one!_

In all honesty, he probably _did _have that one, considering the most recent growth spurt and the adrenaline that tangibly surged whenever some tactless person felt the need to push him to the breaking point. It was rare, but Maqui seemed to have a gift for finding all the right buttons and having a heyday smacking them repeatedly with his remarks like he was playing Whack-a-Mole at a carnival.

_If the prize for winning is a wrench to the head, I don't get the appeal. And I'm _supposed_ to be helping Hope develop better habits for dealing with frustration. Ugh, we've got a long way to go._

Whatever the case, her presence was sufficient to diffuse the tension to a manageable level. Hope stuffed his gloved fists into his pockets and let his anger fizzle out like a wet fuse, and Maqui just gave a weak grin to cover up his obvious relief at the interruption.

"So what's the occasion?" the blonde asked, more eager to change the subject than eat the snacks. "What've you got in there?" Maqui grabbed at the paper sack, but Serah pulled it in close and wagged a corrective finger in his face.

"I don't think I should _reward_ you for being such a scoundrel."

Cringing back as though he'd been struck and then gesturing in his usual overdramatic fashion, Maqui protested, "A _scoundrel_? He threatens to throw a wrench and_ I'm_ the bad guy?"

She heard Hope snicker and cover it with a cough, his betraying eyes on the floor.

_Yeah, go ahead and _try_ to hide that face. As if it wasn't already a dead giveaway…_

Serah turned on him with a look of plain disapproval, strong enough that he felt it, glanced up for a millisecond and immediately lowered guilty eyes to his boots again.

"_You're _not getting off so easy, either," she practically growled. "A wrench, Hope? Would you really have thrown _metal _at him? I know he can be a jerk, but he did teach you everything you know!"

"N-no," Hope stammered. "I wouldn't have actually hit him with _that_."

"Well then what _would_ you have hit him with?" She fought the urge to put her hands on her hips.

He muttered under his breath, "Probably a fist. Worked out nicely before."

_For once, honesty is _not_ in your favor._

"_Ugh!_" Serah huffed, throwing up her hands. "You're both acting like big babies! Even Dajh doesn't get into fights – he's _seven_!"

Both boys flinched and stared down the concrete.

Sensing progress, Serah continued to rant, "I hope you're proud of yourselves. Now apologise this instant, and I might reconsider handing over these snacks. Otherwise, I'm sure Lebreau and Yuj would be _more_ than happy to eat them."

Still not daring to look up, they simultaneously mumbled a nearly unintelligible apology. It was one hundred percent unsatisfactory.

She sighed. "You have to _mean_ it. And be specific."

"Fine," Hope grumbled, turning toward Maqui but not making eye contact. "I'm sorry I threatened to throw the wrench at you…_and_ for punching you in the face last week. It was childish."

"Thanks, but I'm over it," the blonde replied. "Guess that's my cue." Something in the way his mouth twitched with the effort to not smirk suggested intent to overdo it in style.

_Maker, I hope this doesn't backfire._

He stepped up to Hope, firmly planted his hands on the shoulders of his apprentice – by then almost at eye-level with himself – and said in an overly serious tone, "Hope, I am _infinitely_ sorry for calling you a little girl, and a momma's boy, and a princess, and – let's see – Whine-o-matic, Andromecha, and Ladyfingers _in that order_…OH and for suggesting the pigtails and the apron…hmm, I know I'm forgetting something…"

At that point, Hope was clearly infuriated beyond all reason, face getting redder and glare sharper with every word. He took the break in his trainer's spiel to interject.

"Nope – you've covered _enough_." He grabbed Maqui's hands and in one swift motion yanked them off and away from his shoulders.

"But since I'm such a little _girl_, I'm sure you'll see this coming."

Serah barely had time to take in Maqui's curious expression before Hope had pulled him in by the collar, kissed him full on the lips and taken advantage of the resulting shock-induced paralysis to deliver a completely unimpeded knee to the groin before he stomped away from the scene – all in the space of a few seconds.

From across the room, she heard Lebreau exclaiming, "What the hell was _that _all about?" before the girl jogged over from her rifle cleaning to investigate.

Doubled over in agony, Maqui spit on the concrete and groaned, "Damn it, ugh…_that _was…new."

"Yeah," Serah agreed in a blank tone, dropping her sack to the floor and still staring in astonishment after Hope as he took the back exit. She felt torn between the parental concern over his actions and the sisterly sense of pride in his triumph.

_I _really _want to put this down to karma. Maybe not the most appropriate execution of it, but _something's_ gotta shut that mouth of his._

She put a falsely sympathetic hand on his shoulder. "You know you deserved it – the racking part, anyway."

Scrubbing at his accursed mouth with the back of his hand, Maqui nodded once, emphatically. "Hey, I'll be the first to admit _that_, but I don't do _kisses_ – that's just cruel and unusual."

"Oh come_ off_ it!" Serah chided, every syllable dripping with disdain. "You just can't stand that he's started to fight fire with fire!"

Lebreau jumped into the middle of the scolding, breathless but inquisitive. "So what went down? Did Hope just do what I _think _he did?"

"Yes and yes," Maqui muttered, still unable to stand up entirely straight. "The boy must _die_ – preferably by blunt force trauma to preserve a sense of irony. I oughtta _literally_ throw a wrench in his plans."

Both girls sputtered out pent-up giggles. In the years they had known him, Maqui had never looked so flustered.

"Fifty gil says I know where Hope learned that move," Lebreau said with a wink.

Serah was instantly intrigued. "Really," she said, raising an eyebrow. "Enlighten me."

"Ha! As if I'd throw someone into your path of correction! Don't think for a second that I'm not fully aware you'd track down the instigator, spout off some speech about how _impressionable_ Hope is and how he shouldn't be learning violent crap, blah-dee-blah, and then _no one_ would be able to straighten out Maqui's attitude." Lebreau roughly mussed the mostly-recovered mechanic's hair, earning a glare from him.

_Rats, she knows me too well. Looks like I'll have to ask Hope directly._

Shrugging unaffectedly and tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear, Serah simply snatched her paper sack from the ground and headed for the exit Hope had taken.

"Oh well," she said in passing, flipping her free hand back as she cast Lebreau's accusation aside. "I'll find out one way or another."

* * *

The empty room that greeted her once she'd gotten home came as no surprise. Serah automatically began going through a mental list of Hope's usual haunts, formulating the most efficient order for a search.

It was routine protocol.

Considering his response to the nose-punching altercation the week before, when he had insisted on treating the bloodstains on her clothes and doing all the laundry by himself for three days, she checked the hamper to see if he was employing that strategy again. One look at the overflowing pile of clothes and she moved on, pouting in spite of herself.

_Can't say I'm not a little disappointed about _that_. Oh well._

Despite her doubts, she still made the trek down to the basement level to investigate both the laundry and storage rooms – all to no avail.

She marched back up two flights of stairs to visit Dajh's classroom next, but neither he nor Hope were there; however, Tavi verified that he had been there to pick up Dajh, so Serah rushed out and up to the fourth floor toward the Katzroys' new apartment. Reaching the threshold of their doorway, she felt a familiar pang of sorrow at recalling the recent circumstances that had led to the room's availability.

The day 21D was vacated, eight-year-old Zane went to live with Tavi and her daughter. Permanently. Serah had attended his mother's burial rites unaccompanied, following along with a small gathering of clinic staff as the body was moved from quarantine, in silent support of the young boy who had only his teacher to rely upon in the wide, strange world.

_Sazh and Dajh didn't need to know all the details. And Hope...I still haven't told him about the relapse cases that keep cropping up. So many failures._

Shaking her head to clear the dark cloud filling it, Serah knocked on the door three times. It opened almost immediately, and Dajh's bushy hair came into view below.

"Hiya Serah!" he exclaimed in his ever-chipper voice, pulling her into the room by the hand.

Sazh reclined in his usual spot by the window, poring over what appeared to be a textbook – probably his newest consideration for Hope's growing curriculum. To pass the time while the transport was repaired, he had made a pet project of seeing that the boy achieved some level of high school education, frequenting the settlement's recently established library despite several close calls with PSICOM patrols.

_I really wish he'd let _me _go instead. So stubborn._

Crossing to him, Serah read the title and pulled the book down from in front of his face. "Someone had a 'History of Military Weapons' volume? Nice find!"

"Hmph, gotta break up all that chemistry or physics or whatever kind o' science he's devouring now with somethin' _interesting_!" he replied with a grin. "I don't see the fun in subjects so chock full of formulas, but he hasn't given me half the struggle wi' them as he did with the grammar book."

Serah snickered. "Hate to tell you, but it's probably my anatomy textbook by now. You wouldn't happen to know where he's gone to though, would you? He's not anywhere downstairs."

"Nah, he didn't say anything – I just assumed he'd be headed back to your room," Sazh mumbled, returning to his reading. "Still early though. He coulda gone back to the shop for something, but lemme know later if he's still bein' scarce."

"Okay," she quietly replied, feeling deflated.

_He wouldn't have gone back – not right after the stunt with Maqui. But I don't see why he'd go to any of the other floors in the building. Then again…_

Hope's cat-like tendencies came to mind. If he wasn't on the lowest subterranean level, the next most secluded place would be up _above_ everyone.

"Sazh, do you know if the shelter has roof access?"

He looked up again and set the book in his lap, sounding a tad frustrated at the break in concentration when he answered, "Don't know myself, but there's a fire escape map posted on every floor. I'd check one o' those."

"Got it! Thanks!" Serah hurried from the room and directly to the end of the hall past the stairwell, quickly identifying the map that outlined primary and alternate fire escape routes. Sure enough, the red line diverging from the main path led through the fifth floor and continued higher via a point midway down the hall.

Darting up the stairs, she turned right onto the hall and then made a left into a previously unnoticed, narrow alcove with a dusty, cobweb-infested ladder at its end. Moments later she had climbed the rungs and struggled through the trap door onto the roof, short of breath but scanning the perimeter intently. She saw no one at first but refused to give up as the wind whipped her long bangs across her face and the setting sun glinted off the crystal shell of Cocoon, making her eyes water. Lengthening shadows spread from the scattered, minimalist structures of the settlement that fanned out from the base of their fallen home – it was a wonderful view that would have captured her full attention under different circumstances, but as it was, only served to remind her of the time.

_It's getting later than I thought._

Squinting harder, she took another look around, checking behind a couple of jutting sections atop the building.

"Hope! Can you hear me?"

No one answered. No one was there.

Serah made her way back to the room at a snail's pace, barely bothering to pick up her feet – had it been physically possible, she would have simply melted into a gelatinous mass and oozed down the stairs, seeping along the baseboard to her destination. Even though she had become used to climbing the stairs at least twice every day, running the gamut of the building in less than half an hour and suddenly losing her motivation sapped what strength remained. She felt herself tumbling headlong into a rut.

_Is he _mad_ at me? What if he doesn't come home at all, or even check in with someone? Then I'll be making a bunch of comm calls again and everyone will panic and go on a hunt, and in the end he'll just say I've overreacted and that he only wanted some 'personal space.' Who needs _that _much personal space anyway?_

Rationalizing the many excuses for her anxiety about him along the way – the ever-present fear of a relapse in some obscure location, the threat of PSICOM mere blocks away, or even general concerns about his introverted tendencies – was not, shockingly, helping to make her feel at ease. She also considered that if her sister or fiancé were already back, she would be far more distracted and far less lonely, therefore less prone to worry so much over the sixteen-year-old's whereabouts during post-working hours.

_I'm kidding myself. The only difference would be more bodies to track him down._

Arriving at the door, Serah wearily placed her hand on the knob to turn it, but felt herself jerked forward when the door opened in that same instant.

"Finally!" Hope exclaimed.

She was promptly enveloped in lanky arms and winded by the force of colliding against his bony frame.

_Well, he's not _mad_ at me._

Startled and fumbling for words, she asked, "When did-did you get back _here_? I looked _everywhere_ but I didn't expect—"

"Yeah, I know you probably thought I was hiding out or something," he cut in, releasing his hold and closing the door behind her. "I was _starving_ so I went to the kitchen – no luck _there_. I've been staring at that stupid paper bag for the last ten minutes!"

Laughing as relief sank in, she walked over to the discarded sack on the dresser and picked it up. When she turned around, Hope was right there, hands clasped just below his pleading face.

"Am I still in trouble? Can I see what it is? _Please_?"

_You have _no_ shame when it comes to food. I didn't know teenage boys ate so much! Gives me a bit of useful leverage though…_

She raised her finger. "You can…on one condition."

"Okay," Hope replied warily. "What condition?"

"Answer _this_. Who inspired that embarrassing little move you pulled on Maqui? Don't get me wrong – I know you're smart enough to figure out ways to get back at him, but that was definitely not your _typical_ reaction."

Serah stopped to take hold of his chin and meet his eyes, making sure he understood that she had no intention of punishing him, but every intention of getting the truth.

"Sure, you were _really_ angry – I just need to know why you used _that _strategy," she pressed, and his expression turned conflicted.

Pulling away from her hand, Hope took a step back and crossed his arms. He replied obstinately, "I can't _tell_ you. The person who gave me the idea never thought I'd have the guts to actually use that move. It was more of a joke. But I decided to make a point with Maqui so he'd stop teasing me about being so…well, everything I _am_, apparently. It didn't work anyway. Might've even made things worse."

Serah sighed and brought a hand to her forehead. "Hope, you can_not_ take him seriously. He always latches on to the tiniest little things and blows them _way_ out of proportion!"

Hope immediately retorted, "But I _am_ skinny and I have long hair and big eyes and I_ do_ look like my _mother_."

_Maybe I should tell you some of the evil things he said about _Sis_ for perspective. Then again, I can definitely see _that_ one being counterproductive._

"He's just jealous because that growth spurt of yours is going to make him look short. And trust me, all those things you're hating about yourself will change," Serah replied, her voice gradually diminishing.

_All too soon. I don't think I like it._

She held out the bag of snacks for him, giving it a shake.

"Here. I got these as a surprise because you mentioned today was your last day of training. Congratulations."

"Oh…uh, thanks." Looking painfully sheepish, he took the bag and spent several seconds rifling through it to inspect the contents. He brightened up immediately.

"All right! Circus peanuts! Wait – how'd you know I like these?"

Serah shrugged. "Dajh's birthday party. You're the only person who would eat them – even I don't care for them."

"Wow, can't believe I forgot about that," he remarked, smiling for a change as he tore open the plastic packaging and bit off half of one spongy, orange piece, continuing to talk excitedly between bites as he devoured a few more. "Must've been the sugar high afterward wiping my brain. But I've gotta ask – if no one really likes them, including _yourself_, why'd you buy them for the party?"

_Because Snow loved circus peanuts. He said no party was complete without them. _

Clearing her throat, she just muttered, "Old habits die hard, that's all. And speaking of habits, you really shouldn't be wearing this thing so much." She reached up and tugged off the bandanna.

Instantly, she gasped, her mouth hanging open in bewilderment at the number of small braids covering his head – all pulled back into the ponytail.

"I can explain!" Hope said in a rush, putting the snacks aside. "I kind of got attacked by Dajh's little friends, but I can fix it really fast!"

Digging through his pockets, he produced a pair of scissors – the dangerous, rusty sort that likely came from a thrown out box of junk and may have been better classified as shears – and held them aloft. "All we have to do is cut off the braids, and bingo: One short, shaggy haircut that actually makes me _look_ like a boy!"

"No, just a boy with a _bad haircut_," Serah snapped. "We've been over this before – you should be happy to have beautiful hair!"

"I don't _want _people to think my hair is beautiful!" he articulated, taking a moment to simmer down before qualifying in a much quieter voice, "And the only reason I haven't already chopped it off myself is because I didn't want to make you upset. I know you really like brushing it."

_True – but _I _know you'd never admit to liking it yourself._

More importantly, the thought of chopping off Hope's hair did not sit well with her for purely logistical reasons. He had struggled with bouts of restlessness and insomnia for weeks, and on many occasions the only things that could help him go to sleep were chamomile tea and a good hair-brushing. She was uncertain how much of it might have been related to his previous infection – there was new research showing its connection to neural activity among patients in quarantine – and how much of it was just hormones, but she seriously doubted the effectiveness of the tea alone.

"Give me those," she said with a sigh, holding up her hand for the scissors. Hope hesitated briefly, but he did relinquish them.

Tugging out the elastic band that held the braids back, he muttered, "You're gonna fight me on this, huh."

_I could, but you'd just hack it off yourself, eventually. I can't stop you any more than I could Lightning when she enlisted._

"Not really," she said lightly, painting on a smile as she set the scissors on the dresser and picked up the hairbrush. "Just let me brush it out for you one more time. If you're still dead-set on cutting it tomorrow, we can find someone to do it properly. Deal?"

Both surprised and suspicious, Hope tweaked an eyebrow. "Okay…sure. Can I get that in writing?"

"Ugh!" Serah threw her hands up, waving the brush and exclaiming in an exasperated tone, "I am _trying_ to work with this! What more do you _want_ from me?"

"Just a pen and paper." He smirked wickedly, making his cocky stance that much more infuriating.

_Surprising nerve for someone so insecure._

She fixed him with a barbed glare. "Fine. Write it up and I'll _sign _it."

* * *

It was already past ten when it became clear that the tea had not brought Hope's energy down to a relaxed level, and was not likely to any time soon. The book he had continued to peruse after repeated warnings – some volume on applied physics – was now safely tucked away under the pillow on which Serah sat, the final result of an epic battle of wills that had led her to resort to dangling his remaining circus peanuts out the open window.

Hope sat in front of her on the mattress, unwillingly obedient. She was thankful to be facing his back so that the self-righteous indignation on his face could only bounce off the wall harmlessly.

And precisely as expected, he began to slump forward shortly after Serah had worked her fingers through the braids to loosen them, brushing the hair smooth in slow, even strokes.

"_So _not fair…" he mumbled sleepily. "Ngh…_you_ just want me to change my mind. But I'm _still_…going to cut it…"

"Whatever you say." She continued to run the bristles along the scalp and down the length of silver strands.

_I'd give anything to have this texture. Fine hair is such a pain—_

Suddenly, Hope reached up to lightly grasp the wrist of her hand holding the brush, stopping the motion.

"What's wrong?" she asked worriedly. "Did I hit a knot or something?"

Shaking his head to clear the invading tiredness, he slipped the brush from her grasp and turned around on the bed. "No, but now that your 'keep the hair' argument is effectively validated, I think you should get a turn before I pass out, like _always_."

"Me? But I don't have trouble getting to sleep at _all_!"

_And there's a line here. A _big _line._

"That's beside the point," he said, stretching and then motioning lazily with his hand for her to turn around. "Your _braid_ is three times longer than my hair. Must be a pain to brush out."

Everything within her retreated from the offer. For over seven years, she had simply refused to let anyone brush it for her. It hurt to remember why.

But there it was, no matter how hard she tried to let it fade away. His insistence unwittingly dragged a certain unpleasant memory from the morning of her mother's funeral to the forefront of her mind. Back then, Serah had recognized that her sister was gradually crumbling on the inside during the interval between their mother's death and that day, but there had been no good way to address it – they barely even spoke for those three days.

To make matters worse, gangly preteen Serah hadn't done a very good job of keeping her hair neat on her own, mostly because she couldn't braid it properly and the fine strands were ever prone to knotting up. So that morning, when Lightning took it upon herself to make her little sister presentable for the burial, the tangled locks were such a disaster that it finally drove the frustrated guardian-to-be over the edge. She growled and cursed everything about the situation until long-repressed sobs overtook her voice, and then she threw the brush into the wall with such force that it chipped the paint before she ran from the room.

Serah had insisted on brushing it herself ever since. Even after her sister's apology.

_I don't want to relive this. And I _really _don't want to explain. What would I say? 'It makes me upset to think about the day my mom was buried?' Oh _that's_ a big shocker. I'm sure_ you_ can't relate._

She gripped the braid draped over her shoulder protectively. "No, it's really no trouble—"

"Serah, stop being such a _martyr_ and give me ten minutes."

Sleepy as he had been, Hope was clearly wide awake and far from giving up at that point. Seeing no good way around it without having to tell him the truth, she finally just turned her back to him.

"Okay," she said quietly. _I can survive ten minutes without reacting._

She felt the tension from the braid release, then little tugs as he began working from the ends up to clear out any tangles. Every snag of the brush made her sit up straighter and brought tears to her vision – not from the physical pain, but the much more unbearable memories and a shrinking feeling that made her almost flinch in the half-expectation that he, too, would lash out angrily. She wanted to tell him not to bother with it anymore, but speaking would only give her away.

_I'm fighting a losing battle._

"You know, Serah," he said a few minutes later, finally able to run the brush the length of her hair without hindrance, "this is _supposed_ to be relaxing. Perfect posture isn't exactly conducive to that, so go ahead and tell me what's bugging you before you get a tension headache or something."

_And I'm officially stuck. Cornered by a stupid hairbrush._

She blinked the tears away and focused on slouching to be less suspicious, or at least not thinking along her previous track so that her voice would be steady. The result fell a bit short.

"It's just…I was-I was _twelve_ the last time someone brushed my hair."

The moving bristles paused partway down for the briefest fraction of a second, but that was his only response. Apparently taking the hint from her shaky words, Hope didn't ask any more questions as he continued to brush.

Instead, he posited, "That's a real shame. It feels _exactly_ like silk."

_Kind of an odd thing to say, even coming from you._

"Exactly?" she asked curiously, turning her head to the side in distraction from her sad state. "You make it sound like you've honestly got experience to back this one up."

He chuckled, gently adjusting her head forward again. "That's because I _do_. Believe it or not, once upon a time, I had _nice_ clothes. One particular shirt was silk – reserved for 'formal' occasions, like this yearly dinner event for Sanctum employees that we always got stuck going to. If Dad hadn't made me wear a stupid _tie_ with the shirt, it would have been infinitely more comfortable to dress up. Maybe more comfortable than wearing regular clothes. You have no idea how_ soft_ that shirt was." Slowing the strokes, he ran the fingers of his free hand through as well, alternating with the brush.

"Then again…this is _your_ hair, so I guess you do have a pretty good idea."

There were a number of questions about Hope's family spinning off from the memory he'd shared that Serah would have liked to ask, but her curiosity, along with essentially half of what Hope had said, was overshadowed by the mental image his words had created for her.

_Aww, that's so adorable! Wearing a cute little tie and being a proper little boy._

While she gushed to herself, to him she sincerely replied, "Thanks. I get compliments here and there for doing my job or helping somebody out, you know, but…it's nice to get one just for myself."

"Don't mention it," he said quietly. "And I mean literally _don't_ – not a _word_ about the compliment or the brushing, and_ definitely_ not the braiding. You'd just give Maqui more ammunition for the next round."

_Oh? So there _will _be a next round? _

Serah let him finish weaving her hair back into its braid, and then turned around promptly, bouncing the mattress in her newfound enthusiasm.

"That's the spirit! I was sure you'd be avoiding the shop for at_ least_ a week after today's fight."

Determination sparked clearly in his eyes, but the pitch of his voice more closely communicated incredulity as he responded, "Are you kidding? I _have_ to go back to the shop tomorrow, or Sazh will hunt me down! He said he needed my help with a 'special project,' but to be honest…" Hope leaned in conspiratorially and nearly whispered the rest.

"I think he wants to take me _flying_."

Serah was rendered speechless.

_Flying? In _that _thing? Are you a glutton for punishment? Maker, I can see it now – _not_ death by relapse of a deadly infection, or in the clutches of PSICOM, or in some freak electrocution, or during a fire in the mechanical space, OR from blunt force trauma. No. _That _wasn't threat enough. Let's go ahead and add 'going down in a blaze of glory'!_

* * *

**Endnote: AND with that, my roomie took particular interest in this chapter, so her always humorous endnote contains a shout out to both "Wicked" and "Glee" o.0 Never thought I would see those two titles in the same sentence, but whatever. Laugh heartily all!**

**Hope Estheim & the Very Special Chapter**

Hope: What is this feeling, so sudden and new-

Maqui: Uhh...

Hope: I felt the moment I laid eyes on you?

Maqui: Wtf. O.o why are you singing?

Serah: I think he's quoting Broadway. Which we... totally have in this universe.

Hope: My pulse is rushing - my head is reeling - my face is flushing - what is this feeling?

Maqui: [weirded out] Um. You're pissed, dude. Cos I called you princess. And a girl. So... you're feeling loathing.

Hope: Nope, changing it. TOTALLY LOVE. [kisses Maqui] 3

Serah: O_O

Maqui: O_o wtf.

Hope: [wide eyes] I... I just really need your guys' support right now-

Maqui: I THOUGHT WE WERE ON THE SAME PAGE HERE. THIS WAS MANLY TEASING.

Hope: [wibble] I just - I thought you _cared_ about me! [eyes well up with tears]

Maqui: [panic] Oh god. I led you on. OH GOD. You like me. OH GOD. THIS ISN'T HAPPENING. [freaks out and runs away]

[awkward pause is awkward]

Serah: So... yeah, this whole gay thing is totally going to put a crimp in the whole "hooking you up with my sister" plan; you do realize that, right?

Hope: My being locked up for bludgeoning Maqui to death with a wrench probably wouldn't help my chances either, so I figured I'd at least get makeouts out of the deal.

Serah: Uh...

Hope: WHATEVER, I'M CONFLICTED AND TRAGIC AND PRETTY i do what i want.

* * *

Part 2:

Beta: Wow, I suddenly understand why there are so many Snow/Hope fics.

Hthar: It was supposed to be funny! Because - you know, he kisses Maqui? And Maqui totally doesn't see it coming? It's funny!

Beta: Agreed. And not at all random. So, does this mean...?

Hthar: No.

Beta: But you could totally-

Hthar: No.

Beta: It'd just be his "experimental phase"-

Hthar: Nooooo.

Beta: But when Snow comes back-

Hthar: HELL TO THE NO.

Beta: BUT HE'S CONFLICTED AND TRAGIC.

Hthar: I don't think I want you reading my het story anymore.

Beta: I'm just saying: every story needs more gay makeouts. It's a PROVEN FACT.

Hthar: "Glee" is not a scientific source and it NEVER WILL BE.

Beta: whatever you know I'm right.


	8. Bombarded

**A/N: Well, I am sorry this chapter is coming to you all later than intended. My laptop was attacked by spam antispyware that blocks my internet, so I'll be taking the ol' Toshiba in to Best Buy for a fix tomorrow. The only reason I am writing/editing NOW is for the SOLE purpose of finishing this chapter to save it onto a jump drive, and I have to use my roomie's computer to even post it :P That said, I would REALLY love to read some REVIEWS this time around, considering they were pretty scarce from the last chapter *sheds tear*. And as it is such a long, action-heavy chapter, I think it will encourage that :D Before we begin, I do have a couple of terms for you all:**

***electric kettle – it's one of a couple of names for what I call a water heater; my beta-roomie has one, the Rival Hot Pot. Used to heat water quickly, mainly for tea, ramen, or other quick foods that just need hot water.**

***CST – an acronym I created to mean Cocoon Standard Time, not to be confused with Central Standard Time in the U.S.**

Disclaimer: Squeenix owns it all, every last character, and if they screw up this sequel I'm going to be livid… but only for the two seconds that it takes me to remember that I was skeptical from the beginning :P

Bombarded (by the atmosphere)

"Serah, when can we start having coffee?" Hope mumbled in a gravelly voice as soon as he had cracked his eyes open that morning. "It smells so _good_ when Lebreau makes it at the shop."

Turning from where she stood in front of the dresser, hovering over the electric kettle*, Serah rolled her eyes at the half-conscious boy. She hadn't actually slept well, not with anxious dreams of flight-related disaster scenarios running through her head. It put her in a solidly sarcastic frame of mind.

"Oh, so tea isn't good enough anymore? And here I thought you _liked_ it."

Hope shoved his hands into the mattress to force himself into a sitting position, but just ended up slumping forward and rolling onto his side, groaning at the early hour as he spooned the wadded comforter.

"I do…I _do_ like tea," he sighed, looking at her sideways through the mop of hair splayed across his face. "But that tiny amount of caffeine isn't doing much for me anymore – it shouldn't take an _hour_ to wake up."

"Hope, I get the feeling it would _still _take you an hour to wake up, with or without coffee," she replied dryly. "Besides – too much caffeine can stunt growth, and it's not recommended while your brain is still developing. We've been over this."

Rolling onto his stomach, Hope smacked his palms against the covers ineffectually. "Ugh, I _know_ that, but my brain cells are going to _die_ faster than they 'develop' if I can't even wake up to use them."

_You seem to be using them enough already, arguing this point at five thirty a.m. _

She poured the heated water into one of the mugs with a tea bag and carried it over to the side of the bed, lifting the curtain of hair out of Hope's face. At that moment, it was hard not to laugh at the half-sleepy, half-grumpy expression in front of her, but she managed to tone her reaction down to a guarded smile.

"Here. Sit up, or I'll call Sazh and tell him you're going to be late."

Instantly, he was up, swaying slightly from the sudden change of position. He took the tea unsteadily and swung his legs over the side of the bed, feet planting flat on the floor in spite of the raised mattress.

"See?" Serah remarked, gesturing at him. "You should thank me for contributing to your height."

"Thank you," Hope muttered, turning his eyes downward to the rim of the cup as he tested the tea. "It's not that I don't _believe_ you about all the developmental factoids you keep throwing out there – they were all in that textbook on adolescent development." He casually pointed across the room to a stack of books beside the recliner.

"Don't see why you need a book on that. I could've _told_ you half of the content if you were curious, you know." He slapped his hand to his chest, elaborating emphatically, "_Me_ – right here – the hormonal teenage boy that lives with you."

_Kill me now._

From the smile in his voice, she couldn't tell if he was honestly trying to help or just getting back at her for shutting down the coffee request. Either way, her face burned and she was instantly compelled to explain.

"No, that's not it at_ all_! Ann had that book, and I borrowed it because was afraid I was going to do something _wrong_ and screw you up for life if I did any little thing like give you coffee or not be supportive enough, and-and maybe you'd end up not reaching your potential or developing a complex and it would be _all my fault_—"

"_Stop_, Serah!" Hope interrupted, shaking her shoulder with his free hand, and hissing as some of the hot tea sloshed onto his leg from the movement. Once recovered, he muttered, "It's _way_ too early to be nuking this. I get why you have the book, but it's _not_ a big deal, okay?"

Nodding slowly, she regained a sense of calm and grabbed a cup-towel from the dresser for the spill, silently handing it off to him.

_Not a big deal? I'm pretty sure Sis and I both ended up with issues because of all the craziness that happened when our parents died. I'd say it's fair to assume you're 'at risk.'_

Serah sat in front of the dresser and took up her own tea, facing her reflection with his behind it in the mirror but not focusing on anything in particular. Eventually, she murmured in reply, "I'd rather make too big of a deal out of this than not care enough."

"Trust me, Serah," Hope said with a reassuring smile as he pushed off the bed and wobbled on his feet, setting his half-empty cup on the nightstand, "if I was going to be screwed up from the circumstances of life, I'm pretty sure it would have _happened_ by now. The reason I'mnot a total wreck has a lot to do with you, though, and I really meant that thank you, but stressing out so much is going to give you an ulcer."

He stepped up behind the chair, wrapped his arms loosely around her neck and rested his chin on her head. "So can we just…have a do-over for today?" he yawned, blinking sleepily.

Considering both of their attitudes since waking, it was a fair request. She decided to get on board.

"I guess so." Serah watched his cloudy eyes close and felt the pressure on her head increase as his breathing slowed against her back.

_Did he fall asleep _standing?

"Hope?" She shook his arm, and when that proved ineffective, reached up to gently pat his cheek. His head jerked slightly as he was jolted awake.

"Huh? What?"

Chuckling, she remarked, "You were one of those kids who slept in and snuggled with your blankie until_ dragged_ out of the bed, weren't you?"

When he stood up straight and backed off, she couldn't tell from the reflection if it was annoyance or just tiredness causing him to scrunch his brows together, but his actions supported the former as he reached down abruptly and picked up the coveralls from the floor, tugging them on.

"I did _not_ have a blankie," he grumbled, zipping up the coveralls and pulling his hair back with the elastic band. "Why are you picking on me?"

Snorting, she swallowed her giggles and replied, "You're such an easy target in the morning, and I never get to have any fun!"

"Well that's _totally_ understandable," he muttered sarcastically. "I feel so loved."

"Oh good!" she gushed, jumping up to attack him in a hug. "Because you know I wouldn't dream of exploiting your morning grouchies if I didn't love you, right?"

Hope sighed in defeat and shook his head where it rested on her shoulder. "I get the feeling that if I _did _have a big sister, she would've been as goofy as you."

"Umm, thanks?"

"You're welcome," he said, pulling away; the smirk on his face promised a much more playful mood.

"And just for your information – _not _to be repeated – I had my special pillow. Its name was Snuggles."

That was it. Serah burst out laughing, accidentally spitting in Hope's face and promptly issuing a broken apology – she could not collect herself for a full five minutes.

He just swiped a hand over his cheek and snickered at her hysteria. "Nice job on the do-over, Sis."

_I could get used to hearing that._

Suddenly, they both jumped at the sound of insistent pounding on the door, followed by a muffled voice. "Alright you crazies – quit laughin' and open this door!"

That, of course, just made them laugh harder, but Hope still headed for the door, tripping over his boots along the way and running right_ into_ the wooden surface with a thud.

"Oww…" he groaned, rubbing his forehead as he turned the knob, but he couldn't wipe the grin from his face.

Sazh stood in the doorway for a long moment, regarding the awkward teen. He shook his head and placed a hand on Hope's shoulder.

"Bet the neighbors just _love_ you two, makin' all this racket before the crack o' dawn."

Serah simply continued to laugh, but Hope protested immediately, crossing his arms in a huff. "Hold on a sec! You lived here for months, and you _know _it's usually quiet in here."

Waving off the remark, Sazh just strolled into the room and sat in the recliner like he owned the place, propping his boots up on the windowsill.

"Want some tea?" Serah offered once she had composed herself.

Waving a dismissive hand, Sazh replied, "No thanks. I'll get some coffee at the shop."

"Suit yourself," she conceded, but she heard Hope muttering under his breath from where he sat on the floor lacing his boots.

"Yeah,_ coffee_ – you know, that _detestable_ stuff that's going to turn me into a retarded midget."

Sazh hadn't heard him, and Serah could tell from the half-confused, half-concerned expression on the man's face at her reaction that she looked like a fool, but for the nth time that morning she shook with laughter, even more agonizingly from the effort of keeping it in. "I've gotta go get dressed…" she sputtered in passing, grabbing her work outfit on its hanger from the little closet across the room and rushing out the door.

_Whatever – it's good for the soul. I should _stay _this happy._

* * *

Serah regretted going with the two of them the moment she set foot in the number four warehouse. The hulking metal transport that easily took up half of the building's square footage looked as clunky and patched together as ever, every other panel a different shade of gray after numerous damaged sections had been replaced or refinished. She harbored no doubt that NORA had literally unearthed the bulbous ship from the crumbling ruins just beyond the settlement's eastern border – it was incredible that the antiquated technology was functional at all.

But what she found absolutely unbelievable was Maqui's claim that the transport was one hundred percent _airworthy_.

"Look, there's only one way to _prove_ it to you," the mechanic huffed, his spiky blonde hair and practically every feature animated as ever as he gestured toward their handiwork with his pliers. "_Five_ pilots, _three_ mechanics, and one random guy that used to be in engineering did _very detailed_ safety inspections, and we already conducted one test flight – you just weren't here to see it! And you're still not convinced? You don't_ trust_ us?"

Narrowing her eyes skeptically toward the transport, Serah replied, "I don't trust _that_ thing."

At that moment, Hope came running over from where he had been attentively following Sazh's discussion of the flight itinerary with Gippal, who was on a short break from the classified mission of the last couple of days. Hope was bursting with excitement, and even after skidding to a stop in front of her, continued to bounce almost imperceptibly on his feet.

"Serah, I know you probably aren't too _happy_ about this—" Hope began in a rush, his eyes practically glowing. But before he could say his piece, Maqui threw an arm around his shoulders and hugged him to his side, grabbing his face with the other hand and pointing it emphatically toward Serah.

Doggedly refusing to give up the argument, Maqui punctuated, "You're saying you don't even trust Hope? You think this sweet little face would _lie_ to you?"

"Lie abou' _wha'_?" Hope said with effort, his speech muffled from the pressure pinching in his cheeks. It was hard to take the aggravated set of his eyebrows seriously as he glared sideways at Maqui.

_This will only get worse if I laugh. Do _not_ laugh, think sad thoughts…_

"Tell him Serah – tell him how you think we haven't worked _hard_ enough to fix the ship to your standards, Little Miss Perfect."

She didn't have to endure Hope's irritated expression or Maqui's words of derision for long, as Hope promptly elbowed the accuser sharply in the ribs and scooted a step or so away from him and closer to Serah.

"Geez…" Maqui gasped, holding his ribs but still in full-on tease mode. "You sure do blow hot and cold."

Hope crossed his arms defensively. "Don't _ever _talk to Serah that way."

Wide-eyed, she felt that something needed to be said, but she couldn't seem to construct a sentence.

"I-I don't—" she stammered.

_I don't need protection, but it's an awfully sweet gesture._

"Yeah, we already _know_ you don't believe the ship can fly," Maqui muttered, but he quickly changed his tactics – the way he smirked and raised his eyebrow mischievously was a dead giveaway. When he suddenly grabbed Hope by the hand and started pulling him toward the transport, Serah wasn't surprised by his antics, but she couldn't help but be a little impressed by his tenacity.

_Well, that weirdo sure can take a beating._

"Ma_qui_!" Hope protested, but something about his conflicted features and half-hearted resistance made her wonder if he wasn't weighing the actions as retribution for his own stunt the day before.

Still moving forward and actually leveraging his strength against his unwilling counterpart, Maqui called back to her, "Come on, Serah! We'll give you the guided tour – maybe that'll change your mind."

"Alright then," she sighed, tagging along. "You've got fifteen minutes."

_I sure hope this isn't going to make things _worse._ And will I even know what I'm looking at in there? It'll probably just be a bunch of crazy wires and controls._

She wasn't too far off in her expectations – the difference being that Hope was eager to explain the purpose of _everything_ in the transport. Beginning at the cockpit, it took several minutes just to glaze over all of the different readouts and devices covering the dash: from the more familiar radio dials to the navigation controls to the ship's onboard radar. Aesthetically speaking, she did take comfort in the refurbished, cushioned pilot and copilot seats up front, with their barely used safety harnesses draped neatly over the headrests.

They backtracked through the main cabin after that, between the rows of hard bucket seats lining each side of the oblong ship and past the open entryway with its lowered ramp. The lack of windows in the space was unsettling to Serah, but she was relieved that another exit existed when Hope pointed out the secondary cargo hatch opposite the entrance and explained its use for emergencies. He also waved a hand at one particular panel in the floor toward the back of the main cabin, but didn't bother showing it to her.

"It's just the mechanical space," he mentioned in passing. "I don't think we'd have time to explain all the wiring systems for you right now."

Maqui chimed in teasingly, "Understatement of the century – I don't think we'd be able to explain it to you in a month-long seminar!"

"Perfect then," she fired back. "My fifteen minutes is actually up, but I'll give you guys five more if we can hurry this along."

Hope shrugged, heading even farther back in the ship. "Piece of cake. This is the last part anyway."

Once he'd opened a sliding panel in the protruding section of wall just before the small cargo bay, they entered the only other separate compartment in the ship, which was essentially a closet-sized, cramped storage room situated directly over the engine below the deck. There wasn't much to see besides a handful of stacked supply crates, spare emergency breathing apparatuses and first aid kits. The single point of interest was a periscope-like device sticking down through the ceiling into the center of the space, with a handle on each side of its binocular view-piece. Noticing Serah's curiosity, Hope had her step up on a crate to use what he referred to as the 'rear sights.' From the digital display within the view-piece, she saw a panoramic, grayscale image of the back of the warehouse, where the wall that Sazh had charred with the thrusters on the day of his awakening had been replaced; when she used the handles to swivel the sight's location, she could see where he and Gippal had stopped talking and had begun making their way to the ship.

_Guess it's that time, and I really should go. I'd rather not be late to work for the first time ever, but something seems strange about this transport, besides the obvious reason: that it's not a product of Cocoon. Something's missing…_

It wasn't until she was about to step down the ramp to leave that it clicked in her head.

"Hope, wait," she said suddenly, lightly taking hold of his arm before he could pass by.

He turned and cocked his head to one side quizzically. "What's wrong?" Glancing briefly at his watch, he added, "Aren't you going to be late?"

"Well, I – _maybe_, but I have to know something first: where are the _wings_ on this ship?"

"Oh, right." Hope grinned knowingly, but he thankfully kept his explanation short, if a bit technical. "This transport was designed for low-level, overland trips, and it doesn't even have the necessary oxygen regulators for high-altitude transit that Cocoon aircraft do, according to Sazh, so the wings are relatively small. They stay retracted during takeoff and landing to save space and reduce wind resistance for the vertical ascent and descent, but don't worry – you'll see them in flight."

_Should I be taking notes?_

Serah tweaked an eyebrow and asked skeptically, "Oh I _will_, will I?"

"Yep! I asked Sazh earlier, and he said that our flight path would put us over the medical complex around noon, so if it's not too much trouble…"

Hope paused, rubbing his arm and looking down a bit shyly, and then asked in a tentative voice, "Could you take a quick look outside when we pass over – just to wave up at the ship? It'll only take a few seconds."

In spite of all her reservations about the concept of their test flight, Serah felt her chest swell up with gratification. Yes, they were taking a risk, but he wanted her to be proud of the accomplishment. And it wasn't as if every day Hope dared to step out of the apartment wasn't already risky.

_Okay, I have to let go of this anxiety. Surely Sazh will take care of him – he wouldn't be doing this if he didn't feel it was safe anyway._

"Of _course_ I'll wave," she said brightly, giving him a quick hug. "But will you even see me?"

His eyes lit up as a wide grin spread over his face. "Absolutely! I'll open the emergency hatch and wave back. Make sure you're out in the open, okay?"

"Ugh," Maqui groaned as he shoved his way between them to amble down the ramp. "You guys are making me nauseous."

Snorting, Hope gave him a sidelong glance and remarked, "I thought you were _immune_ to enthusiasm."

"Yeah, well maybe if you didn't light up like the freakin' Bodhum fireworks festival _every single time_—"

Right then, he was cut off as Lucil came bounding toward all of them, forcing him to jump aside when she charged up the ramp.

"Sorry I'm late!" she said breathlessly, impervious to the pointed look of annoyance Maqui was shooting at her. She swiped a hand across her forehead and strode directly up to Serah, declaring as she approached, "Escort duty calls!"

"You're going too?" Serah asked immediately.

"Hey, can't ever be too careful – we wouldn't wanna send two former l'Cie flying around the settlement without some sort of military escort, you know."

She abruptly turned on her heel, red hair whipping around to nearly slap Serah in the face. "And _you_," she exclaimed, pointing an accusatory finger at Maqui. "Gadot says to get your ass over to building three, _double-time_! You do realise you're keeping Lieutenant Baralai waiting, right? Radio communications workshop, 0730…ringing a bell?"

"Gadot would never use the phrase 'double-time', but whatever." Shrugging, he continued to mosey away from the ship and toward the double-doors across the room. "Have a pleasant flight!" he called out with mock exuberance, spinning around and walking backward to salute her lazily in departure, then turning forward once again.

_Wow, that is quite the bad mood he's gotten himself into._

"He's just burned that he can't go with us, especially after all the work he had to do on the ship," Hope explained automatically, and as Serah watched Maqui open the doors, she was once again flooded with the sense of urgency to get to the clinic. She looked down at her watch.

"Oh _crap_, I'm going to be late, too," she muttered, jogging off after Maqui. "Be safe, Hope – I won't forget to wave!"

"See you at noon!" she heard Hope call out after her, just before leaving the building and letting the door slam behind her. She instantly took off down the street, waving as she passed Maqui while he sluggishly travelled one building over, but not slowing down herself – she was intent on keeping up her pace most of the way to work.

_I can still make it, I can still make it…_

* * *

She didn't make it.

Serah arrived at the entrance to the clinic, sweaty and exhausted, about one minute after eight. It took her an additional few minutes to get inside, scrub out in a flurry, and fly down the hall to Ann's office for their morning meeting that preceded the eight-fifteen 'daily conference' with the staff.

"Miss Ann…I am _so_ sorry…" Serah sputtered out between gasps for air, leaning against the doorframe. "…thought I could…make it on time. I should've called ahead."

Ann looked up from the papers she was reading, amusement flashing in her eyes above the glasses perched precariously at the end of her nose. She looked anything but surprised.

"What are you talking about, dear? Your sarcastic little messenger boy called me about half an hour ago to say you were running late. He mentioned something about a 'personal crisis'."

_Ugh, Maqui – I want to hug you and kick you for this._

"O-Oh…" Serah stammered, unsure how to proceed and how much to elaborate. "Well, I don't think 'personal crisis' was the best way to put it. The guys are going flying for the first time today, and I'm just…_really_ not too comfortable with the whole situation. I went to see them off myself, and that's what made me late."

Standing, Ann remarked simply, "Still sounds like a personal crisis, in my opinion. Maternal instincts can be overwhelming at times, believe me."

Serah cocked her head to one side, confused. "You have children?"

"No," the doctor replied as she picked up a stack of files from the outbox on her desk and headed toward Serah and the door. She stopped briefly, smiling up at her taller intern.

"But I have _you_, and a growing number of patients. It's a similar predicament."

Looking down and away in her awkward inability to respond, Serah grabbed onto the braid dangling over her shoulder. Taking on a filial role already felt like a thing of the past, something that was long buried with her mother or else frozen with her sister and utterly unreachable.

_How do people do this? Isn't it uncomfortable switching around from parent to child all the time?_ _ I would think it's better to just pick a side and_ stay_ there._

"Well, you don't have to worry about _this_ girl," Serah said finally, breaking the uncomfortable silence. "Here – let me take these." She held out her hands for the files, which Ann passed off to her, still smiling up with the look of someone who didn't quite accept the claim just given to her.

On the way down the hall to the conference room and, to an extent, all through the overview given by Dr. Maechen from the quarantine lab, Serah mulled over the feelings that surfaced after finding herself on the receiving end of Ann's motherly gestures. As she sat listening, her chin resting on one hand while she softly tapped the eraser of her pencil on the blank pad in front of her, her mind wandered from hazy memories of the past to obscure hopes for the future. She jumped from point to point – from the first day Lightning asked her to take care of dinner, to the night under the fireworks as Snow asked for her hand, to that morning when Hope asked her to wave at the ship, and everything somehow bled into a nebulous image of the whole group of them sitting around a dinner table together, having coffee.

What a crazy, mixed-up family they would be, one that blurred the boundaries of ages and roles but somehow managed to work. In fact, she couldn't picture it working any other way – they would figure it all out. But as long as half of the equation remained missing, she could neither solve anything nor shake the aching sensation of incompleteness.

_And now I'm nineteen. Nineteen… feels like a jumping-off point for the rest of my life._

A sharp, indicative cough from Ann near her left ear made Serah jerk her head to attention abruptly.

"As I was saying," Ann continued, speaking to the researcher at the head of the table, "it would be more beneficial, in the long run, if the new staff spent more time in observation at the lab, rather than continuing to wait on patients and merely managing their symptoms without knowing more about treatment development. Unless you would rather we train the lab technicians to be doctors. I get the feeling it would be far less efficient that way."

Several heads nodded around the table, a few of the doctors murmuring words of agreement, but the handful of interns in the room began to fidget or glance around nervously, creating a tension in the air from their unspoken desire to flee. Serah felt no such anxiety, but she knew that many of the other trainees had spent little to no time with the quarantine patients and had developed a resilient fear of infection.

Dr. Maechen shuffled some papers in his hands and quietly cleared his throat. "I would certainly be on board for that," he expressed, "but what is the opinion of those directly concerned?"

All the interns' eyes, including Serah's, first snapped to him, and then drifted to their respective mentors for guidance. It was an awkward moment of silence with too many people waiting for unspoken cues, and Serah felt bad for the head researcher. She decided to act on her own.

Shifting in her seat to sit up straighter, she said evenly, "If the clinic can spare us, I would love to take the lab training."

_If only to find out even more about what Hope has coming, and what we can do about it._

She felt the warmth of embarrassment creeping into her face when the entire room's attention turned to her, but she fixed her own gaze on Dr. Maechen. His brows rose in surprise for a fleeting moment before a satisfied smile lifted the corners of his bushy mustache.

"Well, I see we have some interest," he said presently, amusement in his voice. He checked his watch and stood to address the group before departure.

"I expect a response from each of the new staff to be garnered by close of business today. Please send a list with one of the nurses. We can discuss the training schedule at tomorrow's meeting, once I know how many people to expect, but for now, it's off to business as usual. Go and do what you all do best!"

Amidst the scraping of chairs and still-anxious murmurs between the doctors and interns, Serah took comfort in the proud, wordless nod that Ann gave her. She could see the little grin starting to form on her mentor's face, and knew that she had met her expectation by taking the initiative. The moment made getting out of bed that morning more than worthwhile.

Former anxieties notwithstanding, Serah saw the promise of a good day.

_Now, if I can just trust Hope the same way Ann trusts me._

* * *

"Where are they?" Serah muttered to herself as she leaned against the far west end of the clinic's south-facing wall. It was three minutes after twelve, and she grew tired of kicking at the bits of gravel under her feet while she ignored the occasional glances and voices of passers-by on the street, following their natural travel routes toward the commercial district just east of the clinic.

A chilly autumn wind blew right through her thin, navy blue scrubs, and she shivered, rubbing at her half-bare arms. Why the sun always seemed to choose lunchtime to hide behind cloud-cover was a mystery to her.

Gradually, she noticed a distant thrumming sound, steadily growing to drown out the screeches of wyverns on the western border – a constant background noise of life on Pulse – and the hustle and bustle of the people heading out to eat. It was loud enough to make Serah train her eyes on the sky once again.

Sure enough, the transport hovered above the settlement, a dark blotch on the pale gray sky flying toward her from the southeast. She felt her heart settle at the confirmation of its stability in the air – Sazh would have been circling around the area for about four hours, nonstop, and she couldn't see even a hint of smoky exhaust trailing from the ship.

Looming larger and louder with every passing second, the transport finally was close enough that its emergency hatch was in view, and Serah jogged up to the street, standing on a small patch of grass alongside the intersection of two beaten dirt-and-gravel trails in front of the clinic. She looked up and waited for them to pass.

Sazh was slowing the ship's approach, and she felt a rush of air from downward propellers in the extended wings as the ship hovered in front of her, high above the open street. The hatch swung open, Hope's head popping into view as he held his bandanna securely and waved. Jumping up and down to make sure she was visible, Serah waved both arms up at the transport, oblivious to the crowd around her until Hope had closed the hatch and the transport moved on.

After their departure, she could feel a number of stares, which she pointedly ignored in her happiness and relief, but one particular person refused to be dismissed.

"Excuse me, Miss," a male voice called out behind her, and she whipped back around, still smiling warmly. Her face instantly sobered up at the sight of his PSICOM uniform. She knew nothing about his rank or even where to look for such insignia, but something about the authority in his voice and posture made her assume he was 'middle management.'

_I should've expected more of them than usual to be on patrol in this district, even with an approved flight operation. It's not like they trust the Corps all that much._

"Yes?" she asked innocently, hoping to goodness that nothing about her seemed suspicious.

Eyeing the scrubs that clearly marked her association with the clinic, he said matter-of-factly, "I wasn't aware that any of our medical staff had associations with the Guardian Corps. What's your name?"

_Holy crap, what should I tell him? _

"I'm Serah," she started in cheerfully, trying not to delay and forcing a little smile. "I planned on going to university, but several of my friends enlisted in the Corps, so I guess you can call that 'associations'." She flipped her braid behind her back and turned to leave. "Well, have a nice day."

He grabbed hold of her arm – not harshly, but immovably – and she froze.

"And your last name, Serah?" The quiet insistence in his question made her gulp involuntarily. Her mind wasn't sorting things properly as she tried to think of the least incriminating response, so she blurted the first name she could attach to that wasn't her sister's. She had only ever used the surname's initial before, when required to provide something other than a first name on prescriptions or other paperwork.

"Villiers," she said, sudden indignity sparking in her eyes as she met those of her interrogator. "I'm Serah Villiers. Do I get to know_ your_ name?"

The officer's eyes narrowed, and she knew it had been a bad move.

"No," he replied sharply. Serah prepared for the worst.

_He's going to ask me about Snow, or maybe even…would he know about Hope's quarantine record? But that was nearly a year ago!_

Her eye caught the transport in the corner of her vision as it had turned from its northerly course to circle back over the commercial district, and she felt a violent urge to run, or make a scene – do anything to remove herself from that incriminating situation. Despite being practically in the middle of the street, as it was, she could see that none of the people passing them had any intention of getting involved. Their nervous glances and deliberate avoidance was proof enough.

Twisting in the PSICOM sentry's grip, she made to force _someone's_ hand.

Unfortunately, Sazh and Hope had attention on their side at that moment.

The transport made several sudden, erratic maneuvers in mid-air over the crowded streets of the commercial district, and the breath was sucked from Serah's lungs when the ship took a sharp right turn before plummeting into the very center of the block several hundred meters away. The impact sent chunks of soil, gravel and stone from the fountain in the square flying out in a shower of debris before the massive metal transport finally skidded to a stop. People in the vicinity shouted in alarm and a few screamed, many of them fleeing the immediate danger zone but unwilling to peel their eyes away from the scene.

Her own heart stuck in her throat, Serah tried desperately to process the sensory overload.

_Okay, it could be worse, it could…couldn't it? Yes! Of course it could – they might have crashed from so far up that the ship was blown to bits! I remember that dream, one of the worst ones ever, and I found a way to help _then_. At least I'm here, and they're close to the clinic. I just have to get away and get to them – now!_

The low height from which the transport had crashed and the dangerous piloting mid-air had alerted enough people that very few appeared to be injured in the square, but the lot of them had panicked nonetheless, and none more so than every PSICOM sentry within several blocks.

Including the patroller attached to her arm. In his momentary distraction, Serah dug her heels into the gravel and jerked free, running wildly toward the commotion while training her eyes where she knew the cabin entrance would be – somewhere behind the smokescreen.

Little fires had sprouted in the cracks of several panels on the ship, where the seams had crunched and buckled from impact, but from what she could tell, they were localized and could be contained. Serah heard the heavy, grinding boots of the PSICOM patroller trailing just behind. She had every intention of reaching the wreckage before he could get hold of her a second time, and the growing crowd of pedestrians rushing away from the scene became a convenient tool for her evasion. She wove nimbly among the bodies flooding by, some of them even directly interfering with her pursuer as they shouted demands for explanation and pleas for assistance.

It didn't occur to her that her presence on the scene could actually be detrimental until she was less than five paces from the cabin entrance. At that point, it was far too late for such doubts, as Hope and Lucil had already managed to wrench the disjointed hatch open and tumble out, dropping a meter or so to land among the rubble where the ramp would normally have been extended. From her location then, she could also see that Sazh had held back in the doorway, scanning the scene with a hand to his forehead and a keen eye. He began signaling furiously for Serah to stop her approach once they made eye contact, but moments later he ducked out of sight.

Serah instinctively closed the distance and leaned down to steady Hope in a sitting position on the gravel. Excepting his muffled groans and lack of coordination from the crash, it seemed the seat restraints in the cockpit had done their job to prevent injury. He shook his head clear and his vision finally fixed on the person who had just come to his aid. The way his eyes first widened in alarm and then became dark with fear unnerved her.

"What the – Serah! No, oh no, you have to get away from here _now_!" he shouted over the continuing noise from still-spinning propellers in the wings above and the pop of small explosions within the ship's engine, as more and more circuitry fried in the aftermath.

Almost instantaneously, Private Lucil jerked her head up and stabilized herself where she had landed behind Hope, leveling Serah with a look almost identical to his. In a split second it shifted from fear to animosity when her piercing gaze tracked to the side and focused behind Serah.

"Run now," Lucil said between gritted teeth, launching up from her crouch to shove past Serah and stand as a human shield. The PSICOM patroller had arrived – there was no need to turn and look.

And at that point, there was no use in running.

_I can work with this._

Serah knelt down in front of Hope's mortified face and took him by the shoulders, adopting a calm tone – a very typical posture for a typical medic comforting a traumatized boy.

"Just take a few deep breaths," she said evenly, and at his quizzical expression, added, "You're going to be fine, but I need you to listen closely and answer a few questions. Now, are you hurting at all?"

First Hope blinked, shaking his head abruptly to adopt a disoriented manner, and finally stammered, "I-no, no I'm not hurt, or I don't feel hurt anyway. Maybe a bruised elbow from where it slammed into the armrest."

As he raised his elbow to be inspected, Serah could practically feel the force of Lucil's glare radiating behind her at the PSICOM patroller watching the scene unfold.

Converging on them, several other PSICOM soldiers aimed their equally potent, judgmental stares at the instigators of the settlement's first real fiasco. Serah glanced up from Hope's scraped and bleeding elbow to see their varying expressions; she wondered how many of them would be truly interested in providing assistance, and how many simply wanted a chance to make the GC out to be a pathetic excuse for a protection force.

Her understanding was more accurate than she would have guessed.

"Miss Villiers, if you are finished checking on that boy, you must come with me. I'll have to ask you to leave this area anyway, since we need to attend to cleanup and interview witnesses," the initial PSICOM patroller declared with his middle-level authoritative voice, and Serah felt obstinacy rise within her.

"I'm not quite through here, Sir, and I could use some gauze," she said clearly and without hesitation, not even bothering to look away from Hope. She fished around in her scrubs pocket to find a forgotten wadded tissue, which she used to dab at some of the blood.

"Besides, there are other trauma victims I need to treat – or is that not your concern?"

"We care about the welfare of _all_ of Cocoon's citizens, but there is already a team on the way from the clinic, so you are relieved," he immediately objected, shutting down her protests. "Now, please come with me." His attempts at what Serah knew to be insincere politeness turned her stomach.

Lucil still hovered in silent protection, surely well aware that her interference before it was absolutely necessary might only belie Serah's beyond-normal ties with the Corps and raise suspicion. That and likely get her arrested for subversion.

Knowing all this, Serah realised that further struggle on her part would force Hope and Lucil to take a rash defensive posture. She needed to leave, dismiss any connection with them, and hopefully talk her own way out of trouble with a clearer mind.

That plan was rushing through her mind as Serah stood to her feet and turned toward the PSICOM patroller, still waiting impatiently with his hand extended – she was absolutely dumbfounded when she felt a gloved hand grasp her other wrist and pull her back from walking off the scene.

"Don't go! The new team will have to consult with you right?" Hope blurted out unthinkingly; he was already on his feet. "You were a first responder – that means they'll need to get your account as a witness_ and_ a medic. Isn't that right officer? You were planning on sectioning off this area for interviewing the witnesses right?"

He had effectively put the patroller in the hot seat. Not that it would work, but Serah was impressed with the strategy.

As expected, the PSICOM officer brushed off Hope's words as the blathering comments of a silly teenage boy, and persisted in reaching for Serah's free arm. "Her presence is required for questioning at this time, boy. An interview about this incident can come later."

When she turned to see the flames of rage light up behind Hope's eyes, Serah immediately intervened, tugging her wrist in his grip but not succeeding in the endeavor to pull away. He simply persisted in pulling her just beyond the patroller's grasp.

"It's okay – they'll just ask me about the crash landing later, and the on-scene trauma team will help you now," she reasoned with Hope, trying to remain calm and at least a little detached. "Really, you'll be just fine."

"Oh I'm _definitely_ not fine," Hope growled, pulling her closer to him and swiftly stepping around and between her and the PSICOM patroller. He turned his attention to the offending man in uniform.

"Not just because you're trying to manhandle my sister – that would be reason enough. But because someone in this sector is responsible for screwing up our autopilot controls and causing the crash. We know it was a remote hack, and at this range it had to have been from the central command station. But you wouldn't know anything about that, now would you?" he inquired in a voice that masked a cold fury, biting at its object.

_No – this is not a good idea, Hope! You're contradicting my plan! And they _really _don't need to think you know me at all!_

It was as if the patroller hadn't heard the accusation. Narrowing his eyes, he cast a scrutinizing gaze over both of them. "Your sister, is it?" he asked sharply. "Then tell me, boy, what is your full name?"

"Nothing says I have to answer," Hope fired back immediately, and the instantaneous reaction of the patroller was to grab the lanky sixteen-year-old by the front of his coveralls and heft him into the air.

"_I_ say you do," the patroller threatened quietly, but a murmur among the lingering – or possibly even _growing_ – crowd of onlookers had him placing Hope back on the ground reluctantly. Serah's jaw dropped and her limbs froze in momentary shock; she could hear and see the slowly spreading effect of support that they held with the crowd in view. Her ears began to pick up whisperings of "just protecting his sister…" or "outright assault, there" or even more commonly, "stopping that medic from doing her job…"

Working with Hope's proclaimed premise, seeing as her more subtle plans were shot, she stepped forward and put a protective arm around his shoulder. The adrenaline in his system made his whole being tremble ever so slightly – a low, steady vibration like the hum of a motor.

Private Lucil had just about had it. She tightly gripped the hilt of her gunblade in its scabbard and approached the PSICOM patroller, many years her senior in both rank and experience, with a threatening stiffness in her posture. Serah had seen her grip the blade many times before, but never draw it to attack. It was a habitual gesture that gave the soldier reassurance during stressful situations. Serah blinked, momentarily sensing her sister's presence.

_I think Sis would've been like this – then again, I've never seen her in action._

Relief flooded into Serah when the patroller snapped his attention to the red-haired soldier, and Lucil immediately declared, "With all due respect Sir, this is a Guardian Corps operation, and we can get the situation under control ourselves. I can personally confirm that this crash was a direct result of a navigational system malfunction, something we could not have anticipated. The last test flight was completely mishap-free." Serah was impressed at her forced composure – the soldier was tightening and relaxing her grip around the blade hilt methodically, channeling her rage.

"As you seem to be the sole representative of Guardian Corps presence in this operation," the patroller said condescendingly with his nose ever so slightly in the air, "I command you to stand down. This district, and in fact the whole settlement with the exception of your own warehouse sector, falls under PSICOM jurisdiction. It's out of your hands. Now, if you'll point me in the direction of the pilot, I would prefer to get the account from him."

Somewhere in the bowels of the ship, Serah imagined that Sazh had already called for support over their comms network, and she hoped more than anything that he wouldn't dare emerge from the transport at all. Another suspicious person was exactly what PSICOM needed to put everything together. From Lucil's hesitation about even mentioning Sazh, Serah guessed that the soldier held the same concerns.

In the sudden silence – a relative term, considering the still popping electrical explosions behind and the continuous hum of the crowd all around – Serah noticed that the formerly gawking PSICOM sentries had begun investigating the ship, putting out some of the small fires and directing the just-arrived trauma response team to the handful of injured civilians in the square. She knew it was only a matter of time before they found the former l'Cie pilot, and Sazh, Lucil, Hope and herself would leap from the frying pan into the fire.

This was all in a flash of seconds, until Hope's voice broke through her thoughts.

"I'm right here," he piped up, before either Serah or Lucil had the chance to come up with a safe response. "You wanted to talk to the pilot – talk to me."

The three of them started collectively when the PSICOM patroller barked out a sharp, sudden laugh. "Do you honestly expect me to believe that our military – even if it was the Guardian Corps branch – let a little boy pilot a test flight? That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard," he said with mock amusement.

"How do you think I knew about the navigational interference?" Hope interjected quickly, adding to his argument in the most technical language he could delve up. His hands danced in the air to guide his description.

"I was watching the controls while we followed our flight path, and the autopilot malfunctioned precisely when we were above sector five, quadrant C9 at 1208 CST. I completed the sequence for manual override, but whatever had attacked the navigation system also made the override command fail, so we crashed. That's why I told you in the first place – our system was sabotaged by a remote hack on navigation!"

For one glorious moment, the officer held the most flabbergasted look that any respectable PSICOM soldier had likely every dared express. Then, he regained his wits enough to process the implications of Hope's words, and glared shrewdly at his turquoise bandanna and stained coveralls.

"Are you suggesting," the patroller intonated, "that someone inside PSICOM Central Command purposely used electronic equipment to crash this transport in the middle of the commercial district? Surely you know this was an approved flight operation – the GC would not have had permission to fly in this airspace unless we already knew about, and sanctioned, the flight. I can't take an accusation like that seriously. In fact, there is no reason for me to take _you_ seriously, some delinquent who already refused to identify himself. I've had enough of this." At that, he raised his hand high in the air and made a minute, beckoning gesture of the index and middle finger. Two more PSICOM sentries, whom Serah had only vaguely noted toward the outskirts of the square, rushed to his side.

"Sir!" the first of them addressed the patroller. He was a shorter man whose features were hidden behind the dark, alien helmet of the PSICOM uniform. "What are your orders?"

"Assemble a squad to secure the perimeter," he snapped, turning sharply to the taller PSICOM soldier once the former had departed with a quick nod. "And you – escort this girl back to headquarters for questioning."

To Serah's dismay, Hope was not about to stand aside, nor take their advance sitting down. He blocked her fully with his own body in defiance, arms stretched out to either side, and she was surprised to find that she couldn't see over him effectively.

"I said," he almost growled at the approaching sentry, "you're not taking my sister."

The sentry continued toward them, motioning with his hand as if he were pacifying a cornered animal. "Just stand down kid – gotta follow orders. Move aside or I'll have to move you myself."

"So _move_ me," Hope challenged. It was a stalemate in the battle of wills, what with the onlookers around still watching and commenting, their angry faces directed at the PSICOM presence. By that point, Serah had heard more than a few mentions of the Purge and the military's brutal methods of 'handling' disturbances.

And their presence en masse was making a significant impact. There were simply too many people to be moved off the scene in the few minutes that had passed since the crash, and barely enough sentries to keep a secure perimeter. The citizens had been backed away from the immediate area, but the breeze had long since cleared the smoke from where it hovered around the transport – everything was in plain sight.

Suddenly, Serah heard from amongst the crowd a shrill little voice cry out, "Leave Hope alone you meanie! Leave him alone!"

It took Serah a moment to pinpoint the source, but she recognized the girl's platinum pigtails flailing around as she struggled to escape from her mother's grip on her bright pink dress. She must have been excused from Tavi's class for the day because of a family outing.

Hope stiffened, and his head turned toward the sound.

In fact, it seemed that every head within hearing range turned to the girl's voice, and then a large number of them immediately shifted their eyes to the obvious bearer of the name she had called. Both the still-hovering patroller overseeing operations and the sentry immediately in front of Hope stared the boy down.

The PSICOM patroller strode toward them rapidly, and while he did not bother with forcing Hope to move, he wasted no time in ripping the bandanna from his head. Loosened strands of his messy silver hair stuck out in shock before falling limply.

"l'Cie," Serah heard him say between his teeth. "Never expected this fortunate encounter eh, Hope Estheim?" Both of the former l'Cie were transfixed in the glare of that one officer, whose dark eyes stood out starkly against his pale face, enigmatic but still menacing. Hope automatically began to inch backward, continuing to block Serah in behind him; she was so close to the side of the ship that its heat began to radiate against her, making sweat trickle down her back.

_What can I possibly do now?_

Any words or actions seemed pointless. The only thing in her mind at that moment was a fierce determination to make certain they were not separated – she was not naïve enough to think they would dream of taking her instead of Hope, now that they knew his identity. It would either be both of them, or just him.

To that end, she wrapped her scrawny – and likely useless – arms around his waist and secured herself to his back, as if they were about to leap out of an aircraft in tandem. They may as well have been. She could feel his fear, practically hear his pulse rushing in fight or flight response where the right side of her head was pressed against the collar of his coveralls, though how much of that internal vibration was fury she could not gauge.

At the same time, she kept Lucil in her vision – the soldier was primed to spring at any moment, though she seemed to be waiting on a cue.

"Well isn't that sweet?" Serah heard the PSICOM officer drawl, her left ear picking up mostly the echo of the sound as his voice bounced off the metal siding of the ship behind her. She could not see to judge his distance, but knew that the hateful man was uncomfortably close by the way Lucil's eyes narrowed as she tracked his approach, and by the way Hope suddenly straightened his shoulders and tugged insistently at her arms for her to let go.

"Listen, Hope," she whispered then, finally saying what few words she thought could do any good. "I'm not letting you go if I can help it!"

He paused only briefly before persisting in the attempt, pulling at her fingers where they linked onto the opposite arms and dug into the skin. He turned to whisper back in a pleading tone, "_Please_ let go! You should run to Lucil before it's too late!"

She did not release him, but reluctantly leaned back to try and see what was happening for herself. From over Hope's shoulder, she could barely make out the patroller's face and his amused, wicked smirk.

"A futile gesture, but touching," he mocked. Hope continued to try and pry her hands free, but he froze when the officer was right in his face and looked around him to make eye contact with Serah directly.

"Oh, I would let go if I were you. No sense coming along with a dangerous fugitive." And without warning, he reached around Hope's head – narrowly missing Serah's face as she had looked to Hope's right shoulder – and firmly grabbed his ponytail, yanking it forward and making Hope's neck twist painfully to the right side. Serah only caught a brief glimpse of his profile, enough to see his eyes watering as he refused to cry out, and she let go and backed against the transport before the officer attempted to use Hope's hair to force them apart.

Her head immediately whipped to the left again when she heard Lucil's boots taking off. The soldier bowled right into the patroller, punching him in the side of the face with a sharp _crack_ that must have broken bone. He instinctively released Hope to reach for his own cheek and turn on the threat, but she was far too fast. Lucil whirled her left boot into the backs of his knees to knock him off balance, and immediately afterward slammed him to the ground with a sweeping shove from her right arm in the opposite direction.

Serah continued to stay out of the way, sure she would be more hindrance than help, but just as Lucil pulled Hope far from the perpetrator and the officer struggled to his knees, his right-hand sentry charged into Serah's field of vision from the right and caught them all off-guard.

The tall PSICOM soldier took hold of Serah's arm in an iron grip before she could react with more than a tiny yelp of surprise. Hope turned to the sound and reached for her outstretched hand as she was pulled out of range, catching only the air between them.

Obviously on edge at his officer's assault, the sentry instinctively reached for his rifle with his free hand, but couldn't seem to make the decision to risk disobeying his orders and releasing Serah in order to aim the weapon at Lucil. Serah actually followed what he was doing, and she couldn't believe she had remembered her incidental training about assault rifles – not under that much stress.

_Well Lebreau, I think Sazh wins the argument for pistols._

He drew a short battle knife instead, the smooth whoosh of metal against leather unmistakable to Serah's ears after years in a household with Lightning. She trembled when a ray of escaped sunlight glinted off the blade in the corner of her vision.

_Just a threat, right? Unless…surely he wouldn't throw it at them!_

In that same instant, a whirlwind of motion and a chorus of different responses assaulted Serah's senses.

She heard Hope's panicked voice, first and foremost. He must have seen the knife as well, and he called out desperately, "Serah! No! Let me _go_ Lucil!"

Heedless to his cries, the soldier did her job and jerked Hope in the other direction, away from both Serah and the PSICOM threat, and Sazh suddenly shouted from up above, over all the other noises that seemed to fade into the background, "A'right, duck 'n run guys!"

Right then, several colorful, smoking tubes sailed above them from the open entrance of the ship and exploded mid-air or rolled along the ground, sending thick, pungent smoke to settle in the air for at least twenty meters in one direction. The last thing Serah remembered seeing of them was the tortured expression on Hope's face as he struggled in vain to not be dragged farther from her, like a cat caught by the tail.

In her smoke-blinded state, Serah heard the loud crunch of gravel as Sazh must have leapt from the transport, and she heard the cursing of the PSICOM officer as he shouted commands over his radio for any non-essential sentries to prevent the fugitive's and soldier's escape. Hope had stopped calling for Serah after she heard a harsh, low command from Lucil that he "Shut up and leave it to Sazh" before they all got taken in, and their crunching footfalls retreated forward through what Serah guessed was still smoke-cover.

A few seconds passed in the noise of panic and struggle, when Sazh materialized right beside her.

"C'mon girl! Let's move!" he whispered, pulling her arm, but the sentry on her right held his ground, jerking her to his body to lock her neck in the crook of his other arm before retreating farther from Sazh in the haze.

Sazh must have been briefly disoriented, but she soon heard him mutter, "Oh no you _don't_, sneaky bastard!" before his boots took off in the same direction Lucil and Hope had run, likely in pursuit of the infuriated patroller.

Just as the smoke began to clear, a gunshot rang out sharply over the commotion, and everyone fell silent.

Serah hardly dared to look ahead, fearing the worst. She half expected to see Hope, or Lucil or Sazh, lying on the gravel in a pool of blood.

What she heard, just before her eyes – stinging with tears and smoke – were able to take in the scene, was the clamor of cheering and shouts from the throng of people still gathered just outside the crash perimeter. From a flash of red and the black blob of hair weaving through the people, she could see that her three friends were escaping through a barrier of Cocoon's citizens. The PSICOM patroller, on the other hand, was hobbling toward the human barricade to follow them, cursing his obviously wounded foot as it dripped a trail of blood, and several other sentries began charging their exit point in the perimeter as well, in pursuit of the now hostile targets.

_Sazh's pistols save the day! Didn't see _that _coming. Then again, I also didn't count on the crowd to get directly involved!_

The people were not budging in the least. Some even began to pick up stones from the ground and hurl them at the approaching sentries. That small beginning flared into a riot which went on for quite some time, long after Serah watched Lucil, Hope and Sazh dart out from the back of the mass of defiant citizens and take a westerly course toward the clinic. She knew they would be turning southward soon – and homeward.

_Thank goodness._

It could not have been more than twenty minutes later that an entire unit of armed PSICOM soldiers descended upon the scene from the north, breaking through the crowd and lining the entire perimeter. From what Serah could tell, many arrests were made – men were dragged away as they continued to protest in outrage and women skittered off in various directions, some with protective arms around their children. No one would be having a family lunch that day.

She thought about Dajh back home, oblivious to the day's events – to how his life was about to change. She couldn't think about Hope. Any details were clouded with the knowledge of his pain and anger.

Still in the grip of her own personal captor, Serah waited to be led away. And honestly, she was not afraid of what would be coming – for the first time in a long time. She began to understand what it meant to be taken, vice having others taken from her, drawing strength from the knowns of her present situation.

PSICOM would see a timid wisp of a woman with a messy braid of hair, standing innocent and silent in her day-old navy scrubs as she fiddled with the ripped seam on her shirt's hem, and she would fool them. She would remember their every word and move. There had been nothing to work with when she was herself trapped in the dormant state of crystalstasis, but this time her mind began to wrap around the idea of captivity as a new frontier of opportunities – inside PSICOM Central.

Precisely as expected, a few minutes after the crowd had fully dispersed, a new sentry, equally anonymous in his cicada-like helmet with its sinister yellow eye-pieces, shoved a dark, itchy bag over her head and took custody of their prisoner.

_I was definitely wrong about going alone. All the better for it, though._


	9. No, no, no

**A/N: Again, apologies that this update is closer to the two-week mark rather than the week and a half I had planned on, but my beta-roomie and I both had pretty crazy schedules this week. In any case, I feel I should issue a mild warning for creepiness after beta-roomie's response to editing the latter section of this chapter, just in case (her word-for-word comment: 'I am so creeped out by this thing you have no IDEA, WTF?). That said, if the majority of you have read Daybreak by haikomori, my little scene isn't anywhere near your creepiness-tolerance threshold :P **

**Many thanks for all the faves and reviews thus far, and I especially will need to draw on reviews after the direction taken in this chapter, so please do review here, if you never have before or never will again. This is CRUCIAL 0.0 I say so because I have begun to split the perspective – not just out of necessity, though clearly Hope and Serah are nowhere NEAR each other right now, but also as symbolic of Hope's 'coming into his own' in a sense – being an entity independent from Serah (or any other maternal figure). This is why the first half of chapter 9 is from Hope's perspective. The POV will remain split from now on.**

**Here are a few helpful terms/notes:**

***Look for parallelism between Hope's and Serah's POV's throughout**

***It is difficult to describe the smell of wet wool, but I based my description on the actual smell of a wet, Navy-issued wool peacoat :P**

***Hooding – the placing of a bag or hood over the head of a prisoner – is internationally considered a form of torture**

***PSICOM's ranks are based on Army ranks, like the Guardian Corps. That means a Captain (O-3) in the Army is equivalent to a Lieutenant in the Navy, for those of you who may feel weird (like me) thinking a 'Captain' is a lower officer -_-**

***If any of you catch the reference to 'Always in Repair' regarding the number 49, kudos to you, and make sure to mention its significance in your review ;)**

***Vivisection – essentially, dissection performed on a living creature**

Disclaimer: Squeenix doesn't have the balls to treat its characters like fanfiction writers do…but they still get the credit *shrugs*

No, no, no

"Where_ is_ she? Where's Serah?"

Those were the first tremulous words out of Hope's mouth once they had pressed through the last of the crowd and prepared to sprint for cover.

A flash of regret and pain crossed Sazh's face as the old man stumbled out of the packed bodies behind him, and given the circumstances he could only stammer, "I-I'm sorry Hope, but that damned sentry had his knife, and then I saw th' other one headed for you two—" He cut off, pinching his eyebrows and growling in frustration.

"Got no excuse for it, but we'd best move out," he finally said in a low, heavy voice.

Hope opened his mouth, but found it empty and useless as the horrible reality of loss hit his chest like a sledgehammer and sank in so deeply that no words would come. He felt Lucil grab onto his arm and pull him along again, the three of them heading west down the street at a fast pace. All the while his mind raced, replaying over and over again the events that had somehow just freed him and left Serah to the wolves.

_This is not acceptable – no, it's straight up _wrong_ in every way! Don't they get it?_

Once they were just beyond the southward turn in the road at the intersection near the clinic, he couldn't take the burning thoughts any longer.

"_Stop!_" Hope cried out, halting mid-run to turn on his heel and take hold of Sazh's leather jacket in a vain attempt to stall or shake sense into the man. "We can't just let them take her away like that! We _can't_!"

_Even _Light_ would admit this is a situation that warrants a 'can't.'_

He knew Lucil was a lost cause. As his escort, she'd already proven that compromise of his safety was _not_ an option – not even for Serah's sake.

Unfortunately, the old man proved equally immovable. Sazh pressed on, trying to push Hope ahead of him. "Look, I don' like it any more than you, but we got no choice," was his bitter reply. "Unless you'd rather we all got taken in. PSICOM would get _exactly_ what they wanted."

When the stubborn boy refused to turn or move, Sazh took him by the shoulders, and Hope could see his own hurt and disappointment reflected in Sazh's dark eyes, despite the man's steady, rational words. His hands shook slightly, probably itching to mow down the sentry and officer with his pistols.

_If I had a gun – better yet, a good thundaga spell – not even the Maker could've saved them. Just a little over a year ago, they wouldn't have touched her. I would have fried them for target practice if they stepped inside a hundred meters of us._

It boiled his blood just thinking about his own helplessness.

As Hope became more and more infuriated and distressed, he tore his hands from Sazh's jacket to stuff them into his pockets, and the man released him, saying with finality, "The faster we get to the shop, the faster we can work on a way to get Serah back. That's all there is to it. So you'd best cool that head o' yours."

Hope couldn't think straight to respond, so he turned sharply and slowed his pace to lag behind Sazh, letting Lucil lead them onward. There seemed to be nothing to do but keep running.

As he looked behind him to glance at the clinic, an idea struck Hope that would probably have been shot down by the others, determined as they were to keep moving. He knew he was about to look like a madman, but he was determined to take things into his own hands at that moment, if never again.

_That's it! There has to be some use to Serah's connections. She might not have the time to wait for us to formulate an escape plan, so it's worth a shot!_

Hope spun around from his tailing position without warning and sprinted toward the clinic's front entrance, hearing growled curses and the grinding of dirt as Lucil and Sazh belatedly skidded and fumbled in their turning to reclaim him. Racing up the walkway, he swung wide the double glass doors to the building's lobby and knocked over a magazine rack, his momentum propelling him to the receptionist's desk. He barely registered the shocked voices of patients in the waiting room.

Breathing hard, Hope hurriedly interrogated the startled receptionist. "Where is Miss Ann? I need to speak with her now!"

"Who-who are you? And why is your arm bleeding?" the pudgy girl asked as she took a step back from the counter, wide-eyed with the rest of her face shielded behind the clipboard in her hands.

"Bleeding?" Hope looked down, seeing for the first time a trickle of blood issuing from his banged right elbow to trail down his forearm, and quickly swiped it across his coveralls. "Forget it," he remarked, a tad harshly. "Just call Miss Ann! And I'm Serah's brother – tell her that!"

Right then, Lucil and Sazh had caught up, barreling into the lobby, both of them panting and livid. Hope feared for his life for a fleeting moment, but it passed.

_Not so different from the norm._

"What the hell are you thinking?" Lucil shouted, not even bothering to use an inside voice or manners as she stomped toward him, trampling the scattered magazines. "We should've left this area five minutes ago! And that was _pushing_ it!"

Suddenly, Ann appeared at the entrance to the main hallway, glaring at the lot of them. "What on Pulse is all this commotion?" she said calmly, but with a commanding tone.

Hope instantly bolted from the reception desk to stand right in front of the doctor, looking down at her irritated expression.

"Miss Ann, PSICOM just _arrested_ Serah," Hope ground out, the words seeming to parch his throat when he uttered them. He blew through the rest in a panic, taking her smaller hands in his trembling, gloved ones. "She works for you – for this clinic – so there's gotta be something you can do! Tell them it's all been a huge mistake, and about all the work she's done for the settlement. You can clear her name somehow, right?"

_This is fixable, right? They can't just lock her up somewhere, with no good reason!_

For a fleeting moment, Ann's eyes widened in surprise and fear behind her thick glasses, but she quickly collected herself and replied, "Now let's see, Dear," coolly freeing her hands to place one on his uninjured arm. "That all depends on _what_ name I would be clearing. Whoever they think she is, that person is apparently guilty of something in their eyes. That's not to say I _approve_ of their taking my only intern without warning or reason, and you can be sure I'll do everything in my power to set things straight. But with PSICOM… I can't guarantee results."

That was not quite the reassurance he had hoped for. Lacking the probability of a quick release for Serah, all he could imagine was the far more likely scenario of her being bound and locked away, waiting to face an uncertain fate, especially if they already knew she had also been l'Cie. Hope felt completely out of control in that moment of despair, like his fragile hold on a reason for moving forward was severed as Serah was ripped from him. For one, he had lost the will to fight his companions, who would invariably prevent him from taking action; now, even his will to stand shriveled to nothing as he slid down to his knees in front of the doctor.

"Please, please, this is _my_ fault – they're after _me_! Tell them anything you have to," he begged, his voice broken and weak, but he would not cry.

_I don't deserve to._

"Tell them you know where I am, and that they can make an exchange, whatever it is they want if they'll just leave Serah alone."

He could feel Ann's gaze burning down at him, though he would not look up. He didn't blame her if she hated him for his guilt and stupidity – he even welcomed the hatred, if it meant she would agree to turning him over. But when she finally spoke, it was only to warn, "I'm afraid that is out of the question. And if you want to escape to barter your own life, I suggest you and your friends run for the west hall and hide, _now_. There are sentries coming up the walk."

Sazh and Lucil must have confirmed Ann's declaration, because they hauled Hope to his feet in the next instant and half-dragged him down the hallway behind the doctor. He felt more than saw them swing left and race to the end of the west hall, then duck into the last room on the right, the room nearest the building's side exit.

It was a changing room – apparently coed from the range of sizes in the coats hanging on the back wall insert and the shoes arranged below them. Shaking off his debilitating panic, Hope absently scanned the cubbies that covered the walls on the right half of the room, his hands resting on his head. As he tried to breathe and calm down, he focused on the scent of the air – a mixture of both powdery and musky deodorants, along with notes of light, sweet-scented lotions and the permeating, earthy smell of people that generally clings to their worn clothes and shoes.

While Lucil stood posted at the door and Sazh explained their location over the communicator in a furious whisper, Hope skimmed over the name-tapes identifying different cubbies as those of the many staff members, until his eyes rested on the name he knew best.

There was no mistaking it. She was the only Serah with an 'e' _and_ an 'h' that he'd ever known – there had been plenty of Saras and Sarahs and even a Sera in grade school – and if that wasn't enough, the familiar pleated gray skirt and sleeveless white shirt from her old school uniform were sloppily folded and shoved into the space above the label. The carelessness was uncharacteristic of her; she had been in a hurry. Hope removed the clothes from her cubby and frowned at the printed nametape.

_Serah V., huh. Bet you wish you weren't even associated with my _alias_ as your brother, now. You came here to work because of me, you were obviously late because of me, you went out into the open because of me, and now you've been dragged off to Maker knows what fate because of me. _

Lacking anything to do but wait, he leaned against the wall of cubbies and held onto Serah's clothes in his clenched hands like a lifeline.

Across the room, Lucil remained at the door, getting antsy in reaction to the sounds of many footsteps across the building. Her hand never left the gunblade hilt at her hip. Whatever Ann was up to, it had apparently stalled the PSICOM hunt temporarily, but based on the shouts and hurrying of boots, they were on the move again and searching the building.

"Good news, guys!" Sazh suddenly announced, his loud whisper startling them in the silence. "Got Maqui on the radio – he says they'll be pullin' up to the west exit in two minutes tops."

"Then we'd better get outta this room before it's searched," Lucil muttered. She turned her head for the first time since entering the changing room and waved for Hope to move.

"Let's go, Hope."

_Moving again…I have to move. Get out of here and figure out a new plan. C'mon legs, _work!

Lucil must have read into the lost expression on his face when he didn't budge from the wall, because she crossed the room and took Hope by the collar. Forcing him to face her, she arrested his attention. His empty, glazed eyes stared into her fiery ones.

"Hope, you _will_ snap out of it and move your ass to that door," she threatened. When he didn't respond, the soldier huffed in frustration and slapped him straight across the face.

The stinging was enough to give him back his voice, and to an extent, his senses.

"I-I know, I'm moving—"

"About time!" she interjected, jerking him forward before releasing his coveralls and muttering to herself, "How did I get myself into this…"

Hope shook his head clear, the rush of the moment helping him to push the fears that crowded his mind to the back burner. He hurriedly stuffed Serah's folded clothing articles into the front of his baggy coveralls for protection as he followed Lucil to stand by at the door. It was all that remained to be done for Serah.

_For now. Maybe I don't have some little teardrop trinket like Snow had, but I'm considering these clothes a war banner. _

Private Lucil finally cracked the door open and risked a peek down the hallway. A long moment later, she turned her head to face them.

"Two sentries just passed the hallway entrance, and there's one more who just stepped into the first room on the left. Let's go."

She quietly pulled the door open wider, enough to stick her whole head out into the hall one last time, then motioned for Hope and Sazh to follow her. Stepping into the hall, she immediately pushed open the exit to her right and held it for them. Sazh prodded Hope into the hallway and through the exit first, following after as quietly as possible.

There was no accounting for the squeal of rubber boot soles on waxed tile, though. Just as Lucil exited, the sentry on their hall must have picked up the sound, or else caught a glimpse of the fugitives. Hope heard him shouting right before the exit closed behind them, and Lucil immediately whipped around to jam a spare knife from her leg pouch into the swinging padlock latch. She leaned against the door for good measure, and Sazh instantly followed suit.

"You said two minutes about a minute ago," Lucil said plainly. "Let's hope Maqui wasn't being optimistic."

But sure enough, the revving and roaring of velocycle engines carried toward them, music to their ears in that moment. Hope raised a hand to shield his eyes as he scanned the south road and spotted four distinct blurs approaching, sunlight flashing over the metal components of the vehicles. He was briefly overwhelmed with gratitude toward the Corps for releasing so much of their limited resources in a rescue attempt.

Until it dawned on him that four velos was one too many. That realisation sent his heart plummeting to his boots, and a new fear filled the void in his chest – the fear of how he would explain Serah's absence, and of how everyone would react to his being spared at her expense. Along with that fear, though, came the prospect of finally getting his way.

_Maybe they won't be as dead-set as Lucil about saving me at all costs. If I'm lucky, they'll agree to some kind of exchange plan. NORA might, anyway._

Suddenly, Lucil and Sazh were jarred from their own anxious gazing down the road by a forceful slam against the door behind them. The sentry within was shouting through the exit from the other side, his voice muffled by the thick metal and fiberglass. When he stopped, the dead silence was merely the calm before the storm. A new, far more threatening sound came from the back of the building shortly after, far to their right.

The rest of the PSICOM host had finished searching the clinic, and now they had taken the back exit and rounded the northwest corner of the facility to charge straight for the fugitives. Simultaneously, the velocycles rushed toward them from the south. Lucil nodded, and the three of them bolted from the exit, heading straight for the velos without a glance behind. Hope kept pace with the soldier, beginning to really utilize his longer legs, but Sazh was lagging behind. He turned to fire two warning shots from his pistols at the ground beneath the stampede of boots within spitting distance behind him, and the sentries jumped in surprise, cursing loudly before continuing the chase. Their leader shouted commands for the three targets to stop their resistance or face dire consequences, in so many words. The more he yelled, the more colorful his threats became. And as Hope ran, he almost smirked at how_ not_ intimidated he felt by them.

_All you're saying, over and over, is how you're going to – insert graphic verb – me or put what body part where, using the same word as every part of speech available to fill in the gaps. Nice going on the creativity there, dimwit. _

The squad leader's approach – and, by default, his crudeness – was effectively cut off when Maqui sped by Hope and the others on the first velocycle, circling behind them and spinning out sharply to kick up a shower of gravel and a cloud of dust in his wake. The cursing intensified behind them as the many sentries rubbed dirt from their eyes or shook off the tiny stones.

Maqui immediately pulled the velo forward, alongside Hope. He refused to look directly at his apprentice – he simply pointed his thumb to the back of the cycle and called out over the noise of the engine, "So get _on_ already!"

Startled by the sudden, stern command, Hope clambered onto the seat behind him, tentatively grabbing onto the back of his vest.

In the meantime, Lucil swung onto the next velo to arrive with her unit sergeant, and Sazh hopped onto the third with Yuj. Gadot was alone on the fourth cycle, and he shouted to Sazh on the vehicle nearest him, "Where's Serah?"

From a simple shake of the head and the defeated look on Sazh's face, Gadot understood. He didn't waste time pressing the matter further – he just nodded and turned his cycle southward.

_Is this always the military way? Cut your losses and be grateful it wasn't worse? Then again, that kinda sounds like all of our lives in general._

The group of them instantly took off, gaining speed at a startling rate. Hope felt his grip on the vest fabric slipping, and Maqui turned briefly to snap at him, "Grab on before you fly off the back, idiot!"

He simply did as he was told and latched on like a loose C-clamp, wishing in vain for his own, separate velocycle to drive. It didn't help that Maqui was absolutely rigid in his seat and probably thinking about decking him for letting Serah get captured.

_He's figured it out. That's why he isn't asking._

Wind whooshed all around Hope's ears, eventually freeing his hair from the already loosened hairband to whip out behind him. The shorter strands stung his cheeks with tiny slaps when Maqui made sudden maneuvers to weave in between buildings in a serpentine course toward the warehouse district. A few PSICOM patrollers in the settlement had their own velocycles, and at least two had been tailing them for a few blocks already – not that a bunch of dodging maneuvers could possibly mislead them regarding the group's destination. With the crash of the GC transport and subsequent events that linked at least one soldier to the former l'Cie, Hope speculated that all of PSICOM could have already been informed of the fugitives' ties. For all he knew, they would be lying in wait near the warehouse district. But he cared as little as he knew.

Hope could only be sure of their southerly direction by the flickering glare in his right eye, reflecting off the metal on Maqui's right communicator earpiece, as the sun barely dipped to the west. He thought back to the overcast morning, hating the sun for shining forth in mockery when Serah was no longer free to appreciate it.

When he imagined her shut up in a cold, windowless cell, lacking the ability to step outside or open a window to the light and air, he could only see her withering away in solitude. And that thought alone was more real and potent than his paranoid speculation over more graphic possibilities, all because the new image in his mind was _imminent_.

Right then, Hope finally cracked. They were fast approaching the warehouse district, but he wasn't going to make it that far for a breakdown in some secluded storage room as he had intended. The instant he ducked down from the glare in his eye and leaned his forehead against the back of Maqui's vest, harsh, relentless sobs tore at his chest and throat, and his whole being shook. He was thankful for the loud, rushing wind, the roaring engine and the vibration of the velocycle over the rough ground that drowned him out – a small comfort in the moment. The rest of what went through his mind was frustration and torment.

_How could I let this happen? I tried to hide out so she wouldn't be in danger, but that made her miserable! Then I thought if-if she could just stay happy it would all be okay, but now— Now she really is…_gone_. I took her from _everyone_._

Those thoughts and feelings burned onto his brain and carved into his heart, leaving fresh wounds that dug through even the older scarred tissue that had built up to form his inner defenses. It couldn't hold up against this hurt – not when it had been Serah herself who helped him heal over in the first place.

Hope didn't even notice when the velocycle stopped rumbling along, nor did he hear Maqui cut the engine. He might as well have been gone himself.

* * *

Serah's stomach growled insistently, reminding her that it was late in the afternoon. She was thankful for her body's clockwork reactions that had been honed through routine, allowing her to keep up with the time if nothing else.

From the get-go, PSICOM hadn't taken any chances; she had been lifted onto a velocycle and driven from the crash site shortly after her world was darkened by the bag over her head. The vehicle's loud engine made it impossible to judge her surroundings by hearing, so she had turned her focus elsewhere. She monitored her own pulse, her own breathing, and the scent of the air as the wind buffeted them. The pervasive smells of food in the commercial district had faded within half an hour of their departure, leaving her with only the musty smell of the bag itself, which she assumed was a wool blend from its itchiness and the distinctly aged smell of mildew that can only be found clinging to damp woolen garments. Eventually, the ceasing of noise and the shoving as she was moved from the velo when they stopped at their destination had led her to guess they'd arrived at PSICOM Central Command.

_It's kind of a misnomer. Since when was the northernmost sector considered 'central'?_

She had not been hungry then, only thirsty and somewhat dizzy from shallowly breathing the recycled air within the bag. In fact, she had almost fallen over during their fast-paced walk from the velocycle to whatever building they were headed for, and the sentry on her right had been forced to hold her up. He removed the bag from her head, and she instantly gulped in air, tasting and smelling its cool, surprisingly clean quality – even the fresh air she remembered from atop the shelter or from the Bodhum seaside had never felt that _pure_.

That one pleasant experience lost its hold on her, however, once she found herself staring at heavy-looking, reinforced metal doors. There was a guard shack situated just right of the doors, where one of her escorting sentries – the one _not _attached to her arm – had checked in, the injured patrol officer limping along with him.

The entire area was shadowed from sunlight, and Serah had looked up expecting to see the continually overcast sky. Instead, she was shocked to come face to face with the sloping crystal underbelly of Cocoon. From what she could see and project, PSICOM Central actually encircled the stem holding up their former home. The crystalline air suddenly made perfect sense to her.

She had gazed up at the faintly glowing sphere as long as she dared, just long enough to catch sight of several thin trails of wires or lines that stood out starkly against the glassy surface; they scaled up the side of Cocoon from its stem like meridians on a world map before disappearing from view.

_What could they be up to with those wires? Communications maybe? Or something to do with power? Ugh, I wish Hope was here to see this – I think he could figure it out._

But all those observations – her last observations _period_ – had been hours before, and now she sat huddled in the corner of a gray, featureless room, waiting for the unknown. Waiting to be questioned, or threatened, or perhaps to be moved into yet another cold location. She shivered at the thought, still irked that every time they moved her around, they bagged her head and kept her from mentally mapping out the facility. All she remembered since those glorious few minutes of looking at the outside was a repeating cycle of squeaking boots and slamming doors, with occasional mutterings from the sentries as they gained access to restricted areas.

The one thing she knew for certain was that the patrolling officer was no longer with them. Shortly after entering the massive metal doors of the entrance, he had given orders in his notably insidious voice and excused himself to go to their on-site treatment facility, and she hadn't heard him among the voices since.

_Good riddance, but that means that none of these other peons has a security clearance high enough to tell me anything useful. Ugh._

Serah's stomach rumbled again, a churning, internal thunderstorm to blast her back to the present. She had no idea whether dinner would be forthcoming, and her last human interaction had been when the escorting sentry had removed her watch and dumped her in the cell. For whatever reason, he hadn't bothered to pat her down and confiscate her communicator, a lucky break that she didn't trust to repeat itself, so she had stuffed it into her bra while facing the corner of the room. She was on high alert, certain that the conspicuous little bump on the ceiling's exact midpoint contained a security camera.

_Better to err on the side of caution – it's not like I can even use the communicator in here. It's out of range past the clinic, and I'd be willing to bet PSICOM has lead-lined cells or something._

A few minutes later, she heard footsteps approaching her cell. The anonymous guard slid open the cover for the slot at the base of the door to push in a small plastic tray. He closed the cover and departed before Serah could even react to the change.

She scooted the few feet to the door and first inspected the opening slot – which proved far too narrow for a human head to fit through – and then turned to the dinner itself. There was only a pint-sized bottle of water, a plastic spoon, and a covered bowl, which turned out to contain some pasty-colored gruel. At least, she assumed it was gruel. Once she actually ate a spoonful of the cold, grainy lumps, she couldn't think of any other food bland enough to describe whatever-it-was. In any case, it was edible if a bit watery, and she gave up on the spoon to just drink it down quickly without tasting much, shuddering when the cold lumps slithered down her throat. She might as well have been eating paper mache pulp.

Without missing a beat, Serah unceremoniously opened and guzzled the water, staring at the empty plastic bottle afterward and feeling disappointed that it was gone so fast. That very instant, a buzzer sounded as the door was unlocked. Yet another anonymous PSICOM guard swung it open and stared down at her scrawny form on the floor at his feet, and she was glad for a moment that the helmet disguised his expressions.

The guard casually pushed her emptied dinner tray aside with his boot, leaning against the open door as he said in a surprisingly congenial voice, "Crappy stuff they sent in, huh? My major wants to see you – though I don't really understand what they're doing with a harmless little medic. What'd you do, bruise some officer with his last tetanus shot?"

Serah couldn't help but snort at the joke, but she instantly sobered up and whipped her head around to the camera in the center of the ceiling and then back to the new soldier, wondering whether he was really that bold or just plain stupid.

"Oh, don't worry about that," he quickly reassured her, having apparently followed her actions. "Video only – I'm not crazy enough to kid around with audio sensors. They're a rare commodity, and you're not nearly infamous enough for one of_ those_ cells."

Serah nodded and stood to her feet at that, feeling the need to be especially cooperative with this less-threatening soldier. She tried to inspect for indicators of rank, coming up at a loss until she realised that his uniform – excepting the added helmet – most resembled that of the PSICOM patroller, who was clearly a lower officer.

Which meant that the person this man answered to was _not_ the patroller. And he was of even higher rank. She gulped involuntarily.

_Whose impression of me is this major going to value most? He wouldn't be asking for me in the first place if he hadn't already gotten the account of what I did from that awful patrolling officer._

"What's your name, miss?" the officer in the doorway asked at length, taking her by the elbow to lead her out of the cell and down the hall at an easy pace.

Blinking in surprise at the completely normal but out of place question, she finally squeaked out, "I-I'm Serah Villiers, Sir."

"Pleased to meet you then, Miss Serah. You can call me Miles, but if the major starts yelling at a certain Captain Sabin, it's me he's after."

_Captain Miles Sabin, then. I'll have to remember that._

Serah cracked a smile and just nodded again, continuing to keep her head forward. She was relieved that the captain hadn't brought the dreaded bag for this leg of her journey, but even with her eyes unobstructed, the metallic passages of PSICOM Central were far more labyrinthine to her perception than the quarantine facility had seemed over a year ago. She had no idea how far inside the starting point of her cell really was, nor which direction they were travelling.

Still, she tried to pick up any features of significance – a nameplate beside this door, a block-letter plate that read "COMMUNICATIONS" over another door with a red restriction sign and keycode entry, and yet another door with a nameplate beside it. After two right turns and a left, they walked to the very end of that hallway to stand before a door that was far more distinctive than anything else in the building so far.

It was made entirely of a golden-colored wood. There was a large crest of a stylized wyvern with a scroll in its mouth carved and blackened into the wood itself above painted crimson lettering that read, "SPECIAL OPERATIONS."

_Not sure I want to find out what PSICOM means by 'special.'_

Miles positioned Serah against the wall to his left and quietly asked her to wait and follow his lead. He knocked sharply on the wooden door three times and stood perfectly still, until a voice crackled over a small speaker to the left of the door and ordered, "Report, and make it quick!"

The captain cleared his throat, and then pressed the button to talk into the tiny speaker. "Captain Sabin, Sir – I have the detainee."

"Fine, bring her in," the voice barked over the speaker again. Serah hoped it wasn't the major, but she doubted it could be anyone else.

Motioning for her to come, the captain opened the door and ushered Serah inside and to the left again, stepping into the room himself and shutting the door behind him with a quiet click. She stood motionless with her hands clasped tightly behind her back, not daring to look up at the major she sensed staring at her over his enormous wooden desk; her eyes stayed at the line of the desk's beveled front edge. The golden quality of its material matched that of the door.

"Holy mother of Etro! Is this some kind of _joke_, Sabin?" the man behind the desk suddenly exclaimed, and Serah was so startled that she instinctively jumped and looked up at the sound. The major was a bit red in the face at that moment, his bushy, graying eyebrows crinkled up in perturbation. She was sure he'd waste no time making it clear what was bothering him.

Captain Sabin calmly explained, "This is the detainee you sent for, Sir – Serah Villiers, in cell 5F." He was obviously used to dealing with his superior's attitude and outbursts; his posture had not changed in the slightest since arriving at the door.

The major grumbled under his breath, "Dangerous l'Cie my ass…" and huffed loudly before making a beckoning motion with his hand at Serah and the captain. She and Miles both stepped closer to the desk as the major picked up a piece of paper from its surface and scanned over it, not amused in the least.

"What's all this garbage Baram's been spouting in his reports, lately? This thing is a black-and-white death sentence if it's true, but he does like to be dramatic," the major said, waving the paper at the captain until Miles took it from him and read it over for himself.

In the meantime, the major looked directly at Serah, resting his elbows on the desk and folding his hands together to prop his chin upon them. He seemed to have calmed down considerably in the absence of encouragement from his subordinate to rant further.

"So, little medic – you're a l'Cie, are you? And a protective relation of other l'Cie, all enemies of Cocoon, is that it?" he asked frankly, the tone of his gruff voice almost sarcastic.

Serah was unsure what would be the best course to take, but she had a pretty good idea that the report in Miles' hands painted the worst possible picture, and if she were to lie it would be easily found out. Whatever his superior expected her to say, it wouldn't be for the purpose of gathering information – she got the impression that he already had more than enough of that. The questions were probably an exercise in trust.

So she answered honestly, "Sir, I _was_ a l'Cie, back on Cocoon right before the Purge started, but I completed my focus and was already in crystalstasis when the Purge was over." She paused to take a shaky breath, her hands trembling, but the major nodded for her to continue, and she pressed on.

"I-I woke up right after Cocoon landed, and the other l'Cie I know are all either awake now or still in stasis, but none of us have l'Cie brands anymore, or any connection with the fal'Cie at all. And I guarantee that the only thing we want to do for Cocoon is rebuild it here in the settlement. That's the truth, Sir."

It was silent for at least half a minute, as the major stared thoughtfully at a Cocoon-shaped paperweight just to Serah's right on the desk. Finally, he looked back to Serah, no indication of doubt in his expression, and asked simply, "Well I can't say I saw that coming, but now that it's all out in the open, would you mind telling us your real name, Serah?"

"It's Farron, Sir," she said without hesitation. Hiding anything at that point would have only been detrimental. And to make absolutely certain nothing was misunderstood, she added, "Villiers will be my married name…once my fiancé comes out of stasis."

"Hmm, I see," the major muttered to himself, taking back the report from Captain Sabin and skimming over it as if validating information. "That account does line up with our sources. Your sister would be one Claire Farron, also known as Lightning and a sergeant in the Guardian Corps, correct?"

"Yes, Sir."

He continued, "Then your fiancé must be this NORA character from Bodhum, Snow Villiers."

"Yes, Sir."

_Better to stick with just the information he wants. No sense elaborating if they really don't know much about Hope or Sazh at this point._

"Alright then," he said with a conclusive slap of the paper on his desk. "That's where my understanding of this convoluted mess ends, and the real interrogation begins. You might want to sit down, Miss Farron." He gestured to a folding chair against the wall on the far side of the room, which she promptly turned to retrieve.

Captain Sabin stopped her in that same instant with a touch on her shoulder, striding over to get the chair and set it up himself, centered in front of the desk. Serah sat down and crossed her ankles, fighting the urge to fidget with something; she ended up staring at the Cocoon paperweight for distraction as the major himself had done before.

"Let's begin at the beginning," he started in immediately. "According to civilian records in disbursing, you've had custody of the former Cocoon l'Cie Dajh Katzroy since moving into shelter number 5 about a year and a half ago. It makes plenty of sense to me, considering his father was also in crystalstasis, and his whereabouts are currently unknown. But that's neither here nor there – I'm sure you already know that our primary concern is for the only _confirmed_ decrystallized l'Cie previously involved in the attacks following the Purge. Now, I'm hoping this report, here," he emphasized, stabbing a finger at the paper on the desk between them, "really is a bunch of hogwash with these accusations against you regarding Hope Estheim. But I'm gonna let you tell me yourself. When I ask a question, I want a yes or no answer, am I clear?"

There was absolutely no wiggle room in his gruff demand.

"Yes, Sir," Serah quietly conceded.

_Oh Maker, they're going to drill me after all. Will I even get the chance to explain?_

Whatever judgment was about to be passed, Serah could not guess. She steeled herself for the worst, her palms beginning to sweat where they were folded together in her lap. At her answer, the major nodded and cleared his throat, taking up the report once more.

"Did you, after the crash of the GC transport earlier today, knowingly protect and prevent the detainment of Hope Estheim by a PSICOM official?"

Serah's heart raced, the nature of the question bringing to light just how incriminating all of her 'yes' responses were about to be. Her throat was inexplicably parched as a desert, as if to prevent the reply from making its way from her lungs and larynx, but she had every intention of sticking it out in hopes that her cooperation would earn an opportunity to elaborate.

To that end, she said hoarsely, "Yes."

"Oh for Eden's sake…" the major groaned, pressing a thumb and forefinger to rub between his eyebrows. "Now I'm _really _interested to know how this one plays out. Miss Farron, tell me this – are you really, by some mixed-up circumstances of which I'm unaware, his sister?"

She hesitated, weighing her options and deciding to err on the side of correctness. "No, not biologically."

"Right. So just to cover all my bases – Maker knows this whole situation is confounding enough already – you're also not related by marriage, correct?" the major asked, his tone betraying his own disbelief that he had even uttered such a question. And at Serah's incredulous stare, he then read aloud a small section from the report to emphasize the reasoning behind his absurd request.

"Like it says here," the major muttered uncomfortably, clearing his throat, "'…should the accused hold authentic claim of relation to Hope Estheim, by way of preexisting marriage with regard to her sibling…', blah-dee-blah and a bunch of other nonsense. So, just for kicks – is that a yes or no?"

Serah felt her mouth twitching in an effort to smile, but she squashed the impulse and answered evenly, "No, Sir. With all due respect, Hope was fourteen and my sister was twenty-one when they were l'Cie – and now she's crystallized. They knew each other for all of two weeks."

_Not that I can speak for the future, but that's irrelevant._

He actually did smirk at her response, but quickly moved on to the facts. "So what you're saying, then – correct me if I'm wrong – is that you've 'adopted' this fugitive to be your brother, the son of a former Sanctum official who – based on his file – you didn't even _know_ until he turned up about three months after Cocoon landed?"

"Yes," she said confidently, able to take pride in at least that one response.

The major shook his head in disbelief, slouching back against his chair with a heavy sigh. "Look, off the record, I want you to tell me _exactly_ how this came about, because I _really_ thought that one was just Baram blowin' smoke out his ass again."

It took all of Serah's willpower to not snort, caught off guard as she was by his candid comments. She hesitated for a moment while covering her mouth and breathing in deeply through her nose to calm down, and then explained, "Sir, I found Hope in the middle of the field in the rain, hours after he had come out of stasis. His only living family is his father, and we don't even know if Bartholomew Estheim _is_ alive out there, so I took him in."

Crossing his arms behind his head, the major let out a coarse, rumbling laugh. "So you're running an orphanage in your apartment, eh? Guess that answers my question about 'harboring' the kid. But you must've been pretty attached, considering him your brother and all."

"Yes, we were – we _are_ close," she quietly replied. Her eyes stung, but she was adamant about keeping back the threatening tears.

The generally stern features of the major softened briefly, and he said somewhat sympathetically, "Look, I can see you were just trying to help him out, but I'm thinking this may be more trouble than it's worth for you. There's one more really serious charge here that I'm afraid to confirm, because if it's true, I don't think there's anything my department can do to clear you from being detained here. Are you prepared to handle the consequences?"

"Yes," Serah said simply, reverting to the original instructions. She didn't trust her voice to conceal her fear if she spoke further. Focusing again on the model of Cocoon, she imagined within it a miniature version of her seaside hometown and saw the waves lapping on the shore in her mind's eye.

_Calm, I have to stay calm. I've been fortunate to even give my account to these officers, and I'll survive this just like every other disaster I've lived through._

"Alright then, Miss Farron," the major began, leaning forward to look Serah straight in the eyes, "I need you to be completely honest with me. Did you, at any time, knowingly conceal the identity of Hope Estheim through the creation _or_ endorsement of a fraudulent medical record bearing the alias Kai Villiers?"

Hesitating for a second, Serah blinked and focused on his folded hands on the desk. She replied with a heavy but quiet, "Yes." Guilty as it made her feel, she was at least thankful for the blanket accusation and lack of elaboration – that would only have served to incriminate Ann, who had been doing her a favor in the first place by hiding Hope's identity.

The major sighed in disappointment, shaking his head at her affirmation. "We're done here, then," he said tiredly. "R & D wanted me to screen you for overnight detainment, at least – see if you were a threat, and if their accusations would hold water. Looks like they got what they were after." He scribbled some notes on the bottom of the report and signed it, then pulled a dark red folder bearing an imprinted crest identical to the one engraved on his door from a drawer to his right and slipped the paper inside it. That task completed, he turned to the captain who had been observing quietly in the corner.

"Sabin, take this and escort Miss Farron to the R & D department."

"Roger that, Sir," the captain said in his blank, professional voice, taking the folder and gesturing for Serah to stand so he could put the chair away. She did so nervously, her knees knocking together as the anxiety mounted for what awaited her in Research and Development. The title itself gave her a feeling of foreboding.

_What do they really want from me? I thought they were just planning to use me as leverage to get to Hope, but that doesn't line up with the function of R & D. I've worked with some of the guys from that department in the quarantine lab before. Not sure I want to know what else they do besides work on a cure for the infection._

As Serah and Captain Sabin headed out the door toward her uncertain fate, the major called to her, "Keep your head up, Miss Farron. You won't be here forever, I guarantee it."

Turning to nod in silent acceptance, she numbly followed the captain's directing as he ushered her through the door, closed it, and led her down the hall once again. She noted that they passed by her original cell on the way to R & D, continuing in the opposite direction before making one left turn at the end of cell block F, followed by a right turn toward a frightening pair of barred double doors. Like the front gate, these were heavy and metal, both of them bearing red restriction plaques. There was a keycode access pad on the left wall near the doors, which the captain stepped toward. He carefully punched in a five-digit code – she was almost certain it had been 03491, as slowly as he had entered it.

_Does he want me to know this? Surely he knows I'm paying attention._

Serah heard a resounding click, and Captain Sabin pushed open the left door, holding it for her to enter. Within was no different from without, as they walked straight down yet another metal-walled hallway to a second set of double doors with a speaker in place of an access pad.

The captain pressed the button as before, saying clearly into the speaker, "Captain Sabin requesting pick-up at north entrance, over."

Several seconds ticked by before someone, somewhere within R & D, responded, "Please stand by."

As they stood there waiting in silence, it struck Serah, not for the first time, that the captain's escorting her was somewhat unusual. All other escorts to that point had been nameless sentries of no real rank or consequence, and she felt a nagging desire to try and find out how he had come to be saddled with such a low responsibility.

She plucked up the courage and asked as quietly as she could manage without whispering, "Sir, if you don't mind my asking, why were you ordered to escort me? It seems like a menial task for an officer."

Captain Sabin gave a short chuckle at the question. "I wasn't ordered the first time – I volunteered. Let's just say inspiration struck me when I caught wind of your situation and saw that nasty dinner tray headed for your cell. Of course, _this_ time I was sent because of the access restrictions."

"Oh, well thank you then, Sir – for volunteering," Serah replied, already sad for his imminent departure. She felt that if anyone in the building could be a potential ally, it was the captain, and her situation was about to change drastically. Bolder in her desperation, she asked anxiously, "What do you think they'll do with me?"

The captain sighed behind his helmet. "Wish I knew, but that's a whole different department from the access my clearance gives me. R & D keeps a tight lid on their operations. Whatever happens in there, though, remember what my major said – keep your head up."

Turning to her, he lifted the helmet from his head, spiky chestnut hair sticking out in disarray after being stuffed inside for so long. He smiled down at her, a genuine smile despite the storm of worry rolling in to darken his otherwise pale gray eyes.

"And Serah, I thought I told you to call me Miles."

"Okay," she conceded, trying not to read too much into the captain's concealed apprehension. "I'll remember that, Miles."

At that moment, the door creaked open on its hinges. A man of average height in a black lab coat wearing dark-rimmed glasses stood in the slightly open door, giving the captain a look of disdain. He said bluntly, "Captain, you _know_ the duty regulations—"

"Oh come off it," Miles cut in. "My eyepiece fogged up again – really think it's got a crack somewhere." He feigned inspection of the inside of his helmet and shrugged, earning a scowl from the man in the lab coat.

"Well at least you were able to see your way here." He turned his narrow spectacles to Serah, asking brusquely, "And you _are_ Serah Farron, correct?"

"I am," she replied, already getting a bad vibe from the man, if only because he was not intimidated by the captain in the least.

"Come with me, then." He opened the door wider and gestured for Serah to enter, commenting as an afterthought once she was inside, "You're dismissed, Captain," and letting the door close in Miles' face with a metallic clang.

One look at the first of what was to be many blinding, white hallways had Serah wishing for the brushed metal interior of the rest of PSICOM Central. Black lights were interspersed with the normal, fluorescent fixtures to give every part of Research and Development an eerie glow – she assumed it served some purpose other than creeping out visitors, but at the moment that seemed to be its only use.

It did at least justify the black lab coats worn by the staff, all of whom seemed to be everywhere and nowhere at once. They would appear from invisible branch corridors to silently pass, the padded soles of their shoes barely whispering on the floor, like a number of jet-black ants mindlessly making their way along practiced routes through a whitewashed ant farm.

Unnerved as she was by the otherworldly silence around her, Serah could not keep up with how many turns they had taken, nor which direction they faced anymore. The halls were also devoid of the smells she had come to expect in a research lab. Vents in the ceiling and the strangely pure atmosphere led her to assume that the crystalline air from above PSICOM Central was constantly being pumped into the facility. All told, even though no one had hooded her with a bag, she might as well have been blind.

After what seemed like an eternity of hurrying through the maze, Serah's unnamed escort stopped in front of a particular white door, which had only one distinguishing feature – a raised, black number 49 in its center. She shuddered inexplicably at the numbered room.

The man pulled an access keycard from his lab coat pocket and waved it in front of a panel above the door handle. The door clicked, and he opened it to lead Serah inside, another click sounding behind them as it locked.

"Where to begin," he muttered to himself, crossing the room to open and close several drawers in a metal cabinet against the left wall, inspecting their contents with sighs of dissatisfaction. The only other furniture in the room was a polished metal table in the center, its raised height and dimensions suggestive of an operating surface.

Though Serah had felt uneasy since entering R & D, and the tension had mounted with every new observance up to that point, it was when the man snapped on his white, latex gloves that terror truly set in. She instinctively backed up against the door despite knowing that escape was impossible. And in that period of heightened awareness, she made another startling connection.

_I know this man. I've _heard_ him, and I think even seen him somewhere before, minus the glasses and that scary lab coat, but where? Maybe if he gives me more information…_

"My superiors were painfully vague with their instructions, I'm afraid," he said at length, pulling a small notepad from his coat pocket. The black light gleamed against the white pages as he casually flipped through, stopping at a single point to read aloud as if to himself, "Here we have 'conduct initial confirmation, first and second phase investigation…' Hmph. Such cookie-cutter orders. These military types have _no_ imagination."

Looking up from the pages at Serah, the harsh fluorescent light flashed over his glasses.

"Ooh, but they did give me a little disclaimer that you are not to be permanently or discernibly harmed." His dangerous grin was a thin, dark slash on his otherwise pallid face, but that effect was nothing compared to his full smile of glowing teeth when he added, "Well that was considerate of them, now wasn't it?"

Serah was absolutely frozen in horror against the cold surface of the door. She was in no position to respond or even move.

_I'm trapped! But I can-I _will_ tackle this mentally, think of the positives… Think, brain, think! The major said I won't be here forever, but how can I keep my head up if I'm going to be stretched out on a table like some squirming frog for vivisection?_

"I asked you a question," the man said flatly, no longer smiling. "The least you can do is answer it."

Forcefully remembering how to breathe, she choked out, "I-I guess it w-was."

"Excellent, and I completely agree. Maybe not for you, I would venture, but it certainly is a nice challenge for _me_," he replied, the contented tone of his voice in total contradiction to his words and actions. Serah was suddenly, starkly aware of his identity.

_No, oh no. You were that doctor in quarantine, the one on the night shift. During the day, you must have worked here and gotten access to all sorts of chemicals, like the one you used on Hope…_

The doctor pulled open the top left drawer of the cabinet again, concentrating eagerly on making a selection from its contents. In the end, he gingerly plucked a small glass bottle from among many others, its surface tinkling against the tightly packed assortment within the drawer.

Double-checking the label, he placed the selected serum on top of the low cabinet – its ruddy liquid shining like a warning beacon at Serah – and instead took a vial and packet of materials for a blood sample from the right-hand drawer. "First things first, I suppose," he muttered, arranging the components on top of the cabinet. "Please, have a seat on the edge of the table. I'm certain an intern such as yourself understands the standard, harmless use of blood sampling, and I won't ask nicely twice."

Serah did not trust the doctor as far as she could throw him, but she did realise that being in closer proximity to his medical instruments would be her only means of gaining a weapon. At any rate, it was preferable to being eventually cornered and drugged. Fighting him off somehow was not her forte, but she knew that flight response was a dead end.

Nodding, she warily stepped away from the door and went to the table, jumping slightly to sit on its cold front edge. Her legs trembled where they dangled several inches above the floor, so she crossed her ankles for support and gripped her hands tightly over the metallic rim of the table. As Serah waited for the doctor to finish opening and setting out the needed materials, she trained her eyes on the open drawer from which they had come. There were a handful of syringes and a few other essentials, among which was a scalpel.

_That's the ticket. I just need him to be away from the cabinet long enough._

Her racing heart and anxiety aside, the blood-draw was handled as standard procedure – the doctor tied off her right arm, expertly slipped the hollow needle into a slightly swollen vein in the crease of her arm and filled the tiny vial in a series of fast, fluid motions. Sadly, however, he had remained between her and the cabinet through the entire process, leaving her no openings to make a move.

It was only after he had removed the tie and placed a patch over the point of insertion that Serah realised something was very wrong. Her arm itched around the site, and her head began to feel heavy and slow. At first, she tore at the sticky patch with her fingernails, having identified it as the culprit, but the damage had been done.

Minutes later, or perhaps it had only been a single minute, she didn't feel like bothering with the nuisance of a patch. She didn't feel like bothering with anything, period. The haze over the white features of the room was hurting her eyes, and all she really wanted was to close them.

Seemingly from the end of a tunnel, she heard the doctor click his tongue as if in correction, then say in a mock soothing voice, "No no, that won't do," before she felt him rip the little patch from the crease in her arm.

"A bit too saturated for your constitution, it seems," he muttered, placing the patch on her right tricep instead. Serah felt the fog smothering her mind lessen slightly, but she still had no desire to move. The disconnected shreds of rational thought that she could still grasp floated aimlessly around some concept of a plan – a plan she could no longer put together properly in her head.

The doctor had been moving around again, and it seemed that in the next instant he was at her side with a normal syringe. She didn't even flinch when he injected something into her thin upper arm.

"Now then, I'll not have you falling asleep on me, fragile doll that you are," he murmured, sighing in dissatisfaction. "This would have been so much more interesting with your feisty little companion."

_Companion?_

Her mind was clearing further, at least enough to connect his words to their target.

_You intended to run these tests on Hope, then. I should feel something– should be upset, maybe? But I can't…care._

After the injection had fully circulated, Serah was no longer drowsy, but the glare persisted and she remained completely apathetic. Some distant, analytical part of her mind observed that the doctor was choosing his chemicals very precisely, and she sorted through a mental list of common compound names, but none of them struck her as interesting or meaningful.

"It seems you are finally calm and collected," the doctor announced suddenly as he checked her stabilized heart-rate via the pressure point in her wrist. "Time to strike this 'confirmation' item from my checklist."

Serah simply continued to focus on his black lab coat, which caused the least pain to her sensitive eyes.

He lifted her chin to look her in the face, and she squinted at the bright glare reflecting off his glasses as he ordered calmly, "Now, be a good girl and put all these dirty clothes in the corner for me, won't you?"

Driving his point home through her dulled mind, the doctor carefully pulled her down from the edge of the table and tugged the navy blouse over her arms and head. He handed the blouse to her, turning her toward the indicated corner. The powdery fingers of his gloves lingered on her narrow shoulders before he let go to give her a slight nudge in the right direction.

Serah sluggishly made her way to the corner; the thought of protest entered her mind, but she dismissed it as logically unsound and not worth the trouble. Reverting to a practiced routine as if she were taking a shower, she folded the blouse, set it aside, and removed each sneaker and sock, right before left. The scrubs pants were next, folded and placed methodically on top of the blouse, and finally her white tank top.

For a moment, her eyes were dazzled by the glare of the black light radiating off her own porcelain skin, and she hesitated as she blinked, feeling the abiding sense that there was something important she needed to protect at that point.

_I think I was hiding something. What was it, and where?_

Her hand automatically brushed the lacy fabric of the left side of her bra, and she felt the jutting edge of the communicator underneath. She couldn't process why at the time, but as she unclasped the undergarment with her right hand, she held the device securely within the cup in which it sat and wrapped the two halves around it for safekeeping. The pale pink underwear was last to go – she absently kicked them to the side of the rest of her clothes, considering her usual next step of replacing them with clean ones.

Lacking anything further to do with herself, Serah shuffled back over to the center of the room, still squinting from the brightness all around her and concentrating on the waxed floor beneath her bare feet. Her eyes once again found relief in the black lab coat and fixed there, to the point that she hardly noticed – and didn't care in the least – when the doctor lifted her by the waist onto the smooth, cool metal surface and leaned her back against it, adjusting her limbs and leaving her supine on the table.

The fluorescent light above was intolerable, so Serah closed her eyes over her blank mind.

"My, that _is_ an annoying side-effect," she heard the doctor mutter. "Just as well – this should be fascinating." A moment later, Serah heard a quiet flick of a switch, and the light burning into her closed lids was gone. She opened her eyes to only the purplish black light above, setting her body aglow while still faintly lighting up the walls of the room and the doctor's approaching, gloved hands.

He flipped her braid out of the way to hang over the upper edge of the table before drumming his fingers on her stomach as he said with barely-suppressed anticipation in his voice, "Where could that garish brand be hiding, I wonder?"

Serah instinctively reached with her right hand to trace over the blank skin of her upper left arm where a l'Cie brand had once been imprinted, and the gesture earned a dark chuckle from the doctor.

"Ah, I see you remember where it was the first time," he remarked, "but that's of no use to me now. Try not to squirm too much, if you can help it."

After that, Serah was certain his hands slid over every patch of skin and checked every crease or hidden place on her body, probing here and there or repositioning limbs as needed. She had very little reaction to such invasiveness at all, aside from the occasional sensitive area which her mind merely dismissed as a scientifically explicable nerve response. Her emotions were effectively disabled.

Not that she cared, but the doctor seemed, for the third time since she had met him, generally disappointed. He eventually turned her over to repeat the process, even inspecting the roughened soles of her feet before flipping her back into a supine position.

Sighing and once again drumming his fingers on her stomach, he remarked, "Female patients are too predictable – a low tolerance for the dosage, practically no response in the absence of emotional processing, and as compliant as a marionette. Not sure why I bother with something so utterly boring. Oh well, at least you can't say I didn't_ try_ to go easy on you, flawless little doll." He ran a finger from the notch between her collarbones down the centerline and over her navel to her lower abdomen.

"Not a mark on you – no birthmarks, scars, tattoos, and certainly no l'Cie brand. Rest assured that I intend to keep it that way."

Serah turned her head absently to watch the doctor as he raised her left arm next to her face and pulled up a metal clamp attached to the table by a thick, twisted cable, fastening it around her wrist. Its soft fabric lining kept the restraint from digging into her skin. He walked around the head of the table to repeat the procedure with her right wrist, right ankle, and left ankle in that order. He then pulled out a plastic water bottle from one of the lower drawers and helped her to drink it down completely – only then did she notice the cottony state of her mouth and throat, likely another side-effect. She still wasn't sure whether to be comforted or alarmed by his gesture of providing hydration, any more than she had been about his assurances that she would not be physically marked by whatever he had planned.

_I suppose that explains the lining of these cuffs, too. Not sure they're even necessary._

Pocketing the vial of her blood and snapping off the latex gloves to toss them into the trash, the doctor finally dusted his hands and exhaled heavily. "Well, there's nothing to be done with you for now, not until those pesky drugs wear off, so I suggest you make yourself useful and rest up while you have the opportunity," he said in an absolutely disinterested voice, heading for the door and adjusting a dial on the wall before exiting the room.

Serah continued to numbly follow all of her instructions. She raised her head and held it up, as the major and captain had said before, to look around the room for some perspective, but a dizzying wave of nausea had her laying it back on the metal surface again. At that point, she closed her eyes to the glare still emanating from the walls and her own skin and tried to sleep. If the doctor was telling the truth, she objectively acknowledged that rest could become a rare or nonexistent commodity.

Several minutes later, Serah felt the air in the room gradually begin to chill, but by then her awareness was slipping. She blocked out her shivering response, giving herself over completely to the fathomless void of unconsciousness.


	10. Dig, jerk, find

**A/N: So yeah, a LOT of work went into this chapter, and I hope it shows. I only wish that I could give you all the hilarious comments my beta-roomie wrote on the printed rough draft (complete with goofy/scary/cringing faces). I suppose it's important to note that at one point she said this, IN CAPS: "GOOD QUESTION, SERAH. IF ONLY THERE WAS AN ALL-KNOWING CREATOR OF THIS UNIVERSE WHO COULD SHED SOME LIGHT ON THIS TOPIC. IF ONLY -_-" Beta-roomie also said this lovely comment: "Seriously, this ENTIRE PAGE is MESSED THE EFF UP. WTF X 9000". Perhaps you will all be able to see what portions she was referencing. For this chapter, here are some points/vocabulary terms to note:**

***While none of the drugs referenced here ARE real drugs in and of themselves, there are similar properties to various opiates/stimulants/hallucinogens/etc., some of which may have adverse reactions to bright or flashing light.**

***chelicerae – the pincer-like mandibles on arachnids, used to either pull food toward the mouth or to poison struggling prey, if they are venomous.**

***H-thar is arachnophobic. 'Nuff said.**

**Also, a big shout-out to anonymous reviewer Tracez for correctly noting both the reference to the number 49 AND to Miles Sabin from the original fic. This shout-out is also extended to Alpha T. Sigma, SanctumAsylum, DragonGirl323, and anyone I forgot for correctly guessing one or the other :D Made my week!**

Disclaimer: I'm tired of doing these. If you haven't seen one in this story by now and KNOW that Squeenix owns everything blah-dee-blah, you're lost on the plot anyway :P

Dig, jerk, find (another way)

Hope was trapped in the middle of a nightmare.

Vivid as every detail seemed – creeping shadows, the shuffling of feet in the hallway, even the trickle of sweat running down the side of his face and neck – he knew it wasn't real. That didn't stop his heart from racing in panic when, try as he might, he could not move even a pinky finger to stir himself to waking.

Within the nightmare, he was alone in quarantine and hooked up to the IV, his body strapped down so tightly that he could barely breathe. It was dark in the number five lab aside from the blinking lights of the medical equipment. One bright green bulb from the heart monitor cast a sinister glow on the plastic IV bag in the hands of the approaching night shift doctor.

_No, _no!_ Not again. It's been over a year— I shouldn't be dwelling on it anymore._

Hope could not let the tainted liquid in that bag enter his system. Clenching his teeth, he dragged the IV needle in his left arm against one of the straps over himself, jerking on the line to try and yank it loose. He refused to allow the doctor to pry into his mind and uncover the secret of his identity – the seal of doom for his associations, and more specifically, for Serah.

But he couldn't get enough leverage to dislodge the IV. He called desperately for help, unable to make the shout in his mind escape his open mouth – all that left him was a rush of air, making his throat hoarse in a worthless effort.

Struggling against the bonds in the nightmare eventually translated into thrashing against his suffocating sleeping bag in reality. Hope smacked into the wall with a loud _thunk_ which rattled him back to consciousness. Quickly rebounding from the wall, he and the sleeping bag rolled off the cot and landed awkwardly against a lumpy surface. He was promptly shoved aside in a heap on the floor, still hyperventilating inside the dark cocoon of covers.

"What the _hell_—" Maqui groaned, half-asleep and furious. Hope could hear his muffled curses but was himself totally disoriented, fighting and clawing at the walls of the sleeping bag.

The buzz of a zipper being ripped open started near his kicking feet and quickly reached his ears to pass overhead, cool air instantly driving out the heat that had been trapped around him. In the dull light, Maqui's mussed, spiky hair and scrunched up, grouchy expression came into focus as he threw the top half of the sleeping bag off of Hope's writhing form and huffed angrily.

"Dude, how did you get turned _upside down_ in there? I swear…"

Hope shot up, still panting and shaking in a cold sweat. The strange room around him was cast in a pre-morning gray from the scant illumination that filtered in through a small, high window on the wall facing him. It took him a minute to register his toppled cot and recognise that they were in the back storage room in NORA's workshop. The crates had been rearranged into a barricade from floor to ceiling between the half of the room in which he had awakened and the half of the room with a door, but Hope knew the labels on those crates of materials by heart, as he did all the inventory of the shop.

"I-I was stuck in a really bad dream," Hope stammered breathlessly, still on edge. "What's going on? What time is it?"

Maqui rubbed his eyes and looked at his watch, wriggling down into his own sleeping bag and flopping backward as he grumbled, "Forget it, Hope. It's too early to hash this all out – go back to sleep."

"I can't." Hope crashed forward onto the wad of heavy covers, absolutely unwilling to sleep inside of the claustrophobia-inducing bedding again. He rested his head on his arm, turning toward Maqui to ask insistently, "What happened to the others?"

Maqui jerked the sleeping bag over his head and begrudgingly replied in a muffled, irritated voice, "Hiding, same as us. We were kinda being chased by patrollers, if you can remember _that_ much. Now try and keep it down – Lucil's sleeping over there." One of his hands emerged from the sleeping bag's opening and pointed to a figure slouched against a crate in the far, shadowy corner of the room.

That piqued Hope's curiosity, and he asked in an anxious whisper, "Where's Sazh, then?"

"Ugh…" Maqui groaned again from under the covers. "He's safe. Now sleep, before I knock you out myself."

"Gee, thanks."

Hope could remember every disastrous detail of the previous twenty four hours with painful clarity – the image of Serah's frightened expression as he was pulled from her burned in his brain. He lay there stewing over his failed plan to save her and the need to find another way, a startling sense of urgency making his pulse race.

"We have to get out of here," Hope said flatly, standing unsteadily on his feet. He pushed against the wall of crates behind him, testing for a weak spot, but they wouldn't budge an inch.

Maqui scowled up at him. "Yeah, just you try – you won't be able to move the crates by yourself, and we're still under orders to stay put in here. Which is _why_ I'm telling you to get some sleep, genius."

Sliding down to the floor, Hope merely hugged his knees close and rested his heavy head against them.

"And I'm telling _you_, Maqui – I can't."

When Hope sat back up, he pressed a hand on the lump over his stomach in the front of his coveralls, automatically reaching in to pull out Serah's clothes from where he had stuffed them. They were wadded and a little sweaty, so he began to spread them out on the floor next to him. Maqui propped himself up on his elbows, his eyes trained on the clothes – his formerly annoyed expression was erased at the sight. Blinking hard, he didn't look any more ready to accept the empty outfit than Hope had been.

At length, Maqui finally spoke up. "Look, Hope… no one's going to think you didn't _try_ to protect Serah. Lucil saw the whole thing, and even if she hadn't told me what happened, I know you better than that."

"Is that so?" Hope muttered, not quite convinced. "Then you should also know I'm not going to take this sitting down. PSICOM wanted _me_, and if there are no other alternatives to get Serah back, I want you to tell the rest of NORA that they can turn me over as an exchange. You guys are supposed to be Serah's family – her only protectors while Snow and Light are gone. I won't blame you. It's an easy call, really."

Hope remained focused on straightening the clothing on the ground as he spoke, to the point that he was completely unaware of the boot flying at him until it connected with his shoulder.

"Ow!" he cried, strangling the exclamation to avoid waking Lucil and rubbing the point of impact. "What was _that_ for?"

Maqui juggled his remaining boot back and forth between his hands as he explained in a mockingly bored voice, "For being an idiot. Don't get me wrong – I love Serah to death – but there's no way in hell NORA will be turning you over to those crazies. It's non-negotiable. Serah would kill us for letting PSICOM have you, and if you say anything like that again, I'll make sure my next toss is aimed more effectively."

"But what if we just suggested—" Hope tried to protest.

"Nope. Non-negotiable." Maqui set the boot aside and crossed his arms with finality.

Rolling his eyes, Hope muttered, "You pick the worst times to be stubborn."

"Yeah, every time you decide to be this stupid," Maqui shot back.

"Would both of you just be _quiet_?" Lucil's voice rang against the walls of the tiny space, and the boys instantly snapped their mouths shut.

Settling back into his sleeping bag with a smirk, Maqui had to get the last word as he declared in a low, smug voice, "Owned."

At that point, Hope returned to his own sleeping bag and stretched out, a hundred different half-baked ideas to save Serah sparking on the surface of his mind.

_Maybe Maqui's right. If Serah heard my suggestion, she'd give me that tear-jerking look of disappointment, and if Snow was around he would give me some cheesy pep talk – Light would straight up kick my ass. And all of them would want me to fight this._

* * *

Serah awoke with a spasm and a shock, frigid air crawling all over her skin. Her breath came in short, visible puffs tinted purple by the back light overhead, and she shivered uncontrollably.

Her first impulse was to jerk her arms and legs in an effort to huddle against herself, but they simply caught against restraints that scraped the surface on which she lay. Frantically straining to see, she tilted her head and was horrified to discover nothing but her own bare body, glowing and clamped in place by four shackling cuffs.

_What on Pulse? Where am I, and why—? None of this makes sense!_

Several minutes of panic-muddled thinking proved unfruitful. Serah had no clue how much time had passed, and she could only hazily remember the voice of the creepy doctor. After another few minutes of searching her mind feverishly, she recalled the steps of her journey from the site of the transport crash to room forty-nine in R & D. The last image in her mind was one of her blood sloshing into a vial for a routine blood draw, but aside from a lingering, unnerving urge to escape, that was as far as her memories went.

None of that explained why she was strapped naked on a table in what was, apparently, an ice box.

_My communicator… did he take my communicator? What did he _do_ to me?_

Cringing at the possibilities, Serah breathed deeply and pushed back the rising panic. She focused her attention past the constant chill to seek out pains or aches, and to her great relief, did not feel anything to suggest invasion. Turning her head as far to the left as she could, Serah saw the dark blue and glowing white of her clothing in a pile in the corner. She hoped desperately that her communicator had miraculously ended up in that pile.

Her teeth chattered and she fought hard against dwelling on the cold, trying again to picture the warm, sunbathed beach of Bodhum or her cozy blanket in bed at the apartment. But that, invariably, led her to fix her attention on Hope, and by extension, on Sazh and Lucil.

_They got out of the square – surely they made it back to the warehouse safely. I don't know what would've happened if PSICOM had gotten hold of Hope…_

At that thought, a tiny, disconnected fragment of a memory pressed against her mind, warning her that she had very strong, specific reasons to fear Hope ever falling into the hands of the doctor, and though she could give no explanation for that inkling, her stomach twisted up in repulsion.

The door clicked open a moment later. Raw fear washed over Serah like an icy wave once said doctor stepped into the room and adjusted a dial on the wall – possibly the thermostat. She could barely see him approaching from her supine position, but the whisper of his shoes on the floor tightened the knot in her stomach. When he stood directly over her face, chuckling darkly at her shivering form, she trembled even more violently with a strange mixture of chill, terror, and mounting rage.

_I have to-I _want_ to kill this man, or at least take him down. I have no idea how, but I do know why. He intended to hurt Hope, and he plans to leave no trace of what he's going to do to me._

"My, my, my," the doctor said, openly amused at her condition. "It appears there is some fight in you, after all. We'll see how long it lasts."

Serah refused to gratify his taunt by speaking to such a monster as another human, so she narrowed her eyes at the black light above and put every ounce of effort into ignoring the doctor while arresting her chattering teeth. Her throat constricted and made jerky swallowing motions under the cold air, and she became aware of a sharp, pressing ache against her abdomen from her bladder, but she pictured her mouth as sewn shut. She would say nothing and would ask nothing of him.

As if seeing through her intentions, the doctor laughed outright, its dry sound harshly breaking the quiet in the room. "You know, you wouldn't be the first to give me the silent treatment," he remarked casually, grazing a hand over her chill-prickled stomach. Impossibly, the sensation seemed to make her hair stand even further on end, as if the follicles were trying to escape the skin barrier.

He prattled on in a matter-of-fact tone, "For your information, that approach will gain you nothing. After all, I don't recall saying anything about desiring an _intelligible_ response from you in the course of this investigation."

With that, he dragged his fingers just below her stomach, applying pressure to the slightly swollen area. Her bladder screamed at her, and Serah could only bite her lip and wriggle about to hold herself together, a challenge compounded by the shivering that continued to attack her far-from-insulated frame. Aching and frustrated, angry tears began to pool in her eyes.

_Stop it! Stop! What could you possibly gain from doing this?_

"Aw, giving up already, are we?" the doctor mocked, increasing the pressure. "Crying is such a childish response. I cannot understand why females feel so justified at simply letting themselves blubber like babies – just like you want to do now, yes?"

_No, I am _not_ crying for you. Not now, not ever. You won't reach my mind._

Fixed on her goal to the point that nothing else mattered, Serah breathed deeply through her nose and exhaled as she released her tense muscles – every last one of them. A rush of relief hit her abdomen and warmth pooled under her legs, but she stifled the sense of mortification and swept her mind clean.

Her brain rebooted. Serah shut out the horror of reality and focused inward on pertinent numbers and facts. She scanned through her mental rolodex in search of everything she needed to hold onto for survival, past the many different channels for the comms network and past images she could recall of PSICOM Central. She forced her thoughts deeper, probing and grasping at every detail until she finally landed on the five-digit code she had seen the captain enter for the outer doors of R & D – the gate to the Hell in which she had landed. It flashed over and over across the inner surface of her closed eyelids.

_03491, 03491, 03491…_

The doctor removed his hand and shook his head. "Now just look at this mess – hardly ladylike. I hope you realise that cleanup will be rather unpleasant."

_03491, 03491, 03491…_ _have to find my communicator… keeps his keycard in the lab coat pocket… there's a scalpel and syringes in the upper right drawer… _

The metronome beat of Serah's thoughts was suddenly interrupted when the doctor stepped away from her and jerked open just that drawer. He snapped on a fresh pair of white gloves, taking out a syringe and stabbing it into the top of the glass bottle of red liquid which he had set aside.

As he pulled on the plunger, the red liquid turned oddly purple when it was sucked into the syringe from the bottle.

"It seems we've played around long enough," the doctor said in his cold, detached voice as he inserted the needle into her neck and emptied the syringe.

Serah first noticed a comforting heat in the midst of the cold while the serum snaked through her bloodstream, but it wasn't long before the heat fanned into a raging flame that licked across her skin and burned on her tongue. As her body tingled and twitched, her mind fought to explain the change – she knew objectively that it was likely an amplification of the senses by drawing blood to the surface, along with false sensations of pain. At any rate, that explained why the scorching tongues of fire suddenly inverted themselves and became stabbing icicles in a matter of seconds under the chilly air.

_All in my head – it has to be all in my head! He said there wouldn't be lasting, detectable harm… But it hurts, it hurts it hurts it _hurts!

She felt it all as a series of rapid, rattling blows to the nervous and respiratory systems. The shift from hot to cold came with such force that it knocked the breath from her lungs, and she inhaled in gasps to keep from blacking out. Her nose was painfully sensitive to the stinging ammonia scent in the air from the urine – it forced her to breathe through her mouth, tasting bitterness instead. Eyes watering in response, the heightened sensitivity made even the saline sear like salt in a raw wound.

_Was this part of the plan? Did he actually set up all of these steps from the very beginning, just to make me more miserable?_

There was no relief in sight. Serah writhed around in vain, biting her tongue to keep from crying out. A call for help would only have fallen on dead walls and cold metal, and she was sure it would have been exactly what the doctor wanted. She had begun to sweat, the drug-infused saltiness burning like acid before frosting her skin – at that she simply bit her tongue harder, tasting iron but letting up only to breathe at intervals.

Again, the doctor made a clicking noise of disapproval from where he stood to her right. It was barely audible over the scraping of the cuffs and the racing pulse pounding in her ears as Serah continued to struggle, but when he spoke it was intended to be heard.

"Not a good sign for you, I'm afraid. Not good at all," he remarked slyly. "Any normal patient would be screaming by now – I'm tempted to mark your condition as anomalous. That doesn't bode well for your release, by the way."

_Why should I still have to _prove_ that I'm normal? Did he find a brand? That's not possible!_

Despite her better judgment – what little she could hold onto in such pain – Serah gasped out a broken defense.

"I'm not-not…my b-brand is-is—_a-aaah_!"

"What, gone?" the doctor teased. "Oh yes, it certainly is gone – rather, it isn't visible. In any case, I'm not one for taking chances, and we would very much like to know the difference between even former l'Cie and typical humans concerning reactions to certain compounds. Would you like to know what this delightful number contains?"

Desperate to focus on anything other than the attack on her every nerve ending, Serah nodded wildly.

The gesture earned her another sinister laugh. Clearly amused, the doctor replied, "Oh no, I wasn't being serious! Some of the ingredients are derived from Pulsian plant life and have crude names at best, anyway. All you need know is that I have an eye for patients, and for what chemicals their weak, pathetic bodies will respond most uniquely to; even before I ran your blood tests, I knew this particular serum would work beautifully. Now, then. There is the business of cleaning up…"

He strode around the table to its right side, stooped down and pulled out what looked like a spray nozzle for a water hose. Its rubberized tubing had a good deal of length to it – Serah could see that the line was slack, even after the doctor backed into the far right corner of the room where her clothes still lay.

"This may sting a bit," she heard him call out, just before he released a powerful spray of cold water over her body and the entire metal table, rinsing it clean. As sensitive as Serah was to even the chill of her own sweat, the barrage of icy water was excruciating. It was the exact effect of shaved ice at the base of a sensitive tooth, but across every bit of her skin at the same time.

Her mind could no longer process thoughts of resistance. Screams ripped from her throat unheeded, one after another, even after she was so hoarse that they no longer made sound. But at that point, she finally passed out.

* * *

Two days of smuggled-in meal packets and worthless attempts to sleep went by before Hope found out what had been going on outside the storage room. It turned out that, in addition to himself, Maqui and Lucil, Sazh and the entire NORA crew had been safely tucked away since their escape in different bunkers or secluded storage lockers rigged to have false walls or other mechanisms of deception. Even Dajh had been evacuated from the shelter, long before the rescue team on velocycles made it back from the clinic after the transport crash. The Guardian Corps had wasted no time when it came to everyone's protection.

Finally, all of them were relocated to the back barracks, where Dajh had already been safeguarded, as a temporary precaution as well as for the purpose of an informal debrief.

Lieutenant Gippal gave them his much-anticipated, informed perspective on what had happened, his usually carefree attitude wiped clean and replaced with a grim determination. They had been hidden away, he explained, because PSICOM had spent the forty-eight hours following their pursuit of the fugitives investigating the Guardian Corps warehouse complex, questioning soldiers left and right.

"We had to look out for everyone's safety, obviously," Gippal concluded, pointing a finger at Hope. "Especially yours, kid. And I don't want to hear of anyone pulling crazy revenge or rescue shenanigans, either. Am I clear?"

At that point, despite feeling fearful, irritable and all-around disgusting in the absence of a much-needed shower, Hope nodded his heavy head along with all the others. He was a bundle of anxiety, but tiredness had begun to creep in and dull his defensive impulses. The lack of sleep was dragging him down.

When Hope looked up again after a brief rest for his bloodshot eyes, the rarely-seen Captain Nooj – the Guardian Corps' highest-ranking survivor of Cocoon's landing and de facto commander in chief – stood ready to address the group about other operations during the two treacherous days. Shifting his weight to his good leg, he made eye contact with every individual in the room before speaking.

"Corporal Lucil's squadron finished up a flawless containment mission late last night," he said seriously, gesturing toward her shocked face at the sudden promotion and elaborating without pause for questions. "Her sergeant has informed me that no trace of our people was left in either apartment 14C or 21D, and one disguised member of the squad personally counseled with Dajh's teacher to deliver the cover story for his indefinite absence. If questioned, she will be telling the truth – or what she believes to be the truth – when she passes on that Dajh and his father moved into a newly completed housing unit in the east-central sector."

"That aside, I don't anticipate fallout from panic or crucial information being leaked in the shelter, especially once word gets out regarding what happened in the commercial district. If anything, rumors will do more help than harm, based on your reports of the resistance in the square."

"Beggin' your pardon, Captain," Sazh asked in the available gap, "but what're the rest of us supposed to do now? What's the plan of action? They took off with Serah, probably locked her up somewhere—"

Captain Nooj waved a silencing hand and Sazh stopped short. Hope couldn't help but glare at the man for interrupting such a vital question, but when he spoke, Hope felt it more worthwhile to listen than protest.

"I should have mentioned this first, I suppose," Nooj remarked evenly. "I understand your concern, and we are already going over options for Serah's retrieval. A diplomatic approach will be best in the beginning, even after PSCIOM's aggressive actions; to that end, Lieutenant Baralai has been pooling resources and consulting with Ann from the clinic to formulate a starting strategy. Please understand – I do not approve of PSICOM's methods, nor do I take them lightly, but if we consider Miss Farron's safety the top priority, it stands to reason that they will be less likely to do her harm if we try and cooperate from the onset."

While Hope got the gist of the captain's intentions – and he could tell the others accepted the decree from their nods, however begrudgingly – he wasn't clear on the real, nitty-gritty details that they entailed. When he thought of diplomacy, all that came to mind was the vague understanding he held of political scheming within the former Sanctum – something his father had ranted about from time to time.

_And from what Dad said, it was this useless, endless cycle of proposing a fix and having it shot down, and the only way anything ever got done was when someone took charge over all the fighting parties and overruled them._

_Someone like Dysley. This _can't_ be good._

Not really knowing a better way to put his doubts out in the open, Hope raised his hand tentatively.

Captain Nooj turned his head to him, expression betraying no emotion when he appraised Hope over his glasses and asked plainly, "You have a question, Estheim?"

"Yes – I mean, yes Sir," Hope fumbled, more and more nervous as everyone else stared at him. "I just-I don't understand what you mean by 'diplomatic approach.' I'd like to know what's really going on, specifically, and… what we can do to be active participants, I guess."

The captain adjusted his glasses, the rest of him absolutely motionless in careful thought, before he replied, "I can see why you would ask, considering your closeness to the incident with Serah, but I'm afraid I cannot answer your first question. We don't actually know the specifics of how a release for Miss Farron can be arranged – at least not this early in the process. As for your second question, the best thing you can do to help now is to remain hidden and avoid becoming a risk."

Stopping to pan his gaze around the room, the captain enunciated, "That goes for _all _of you. The last thing we need is to deal with multiple entities held in PSICOM custody. Such a situation lessens the chances of release for _all_ parties."

At that, Hope could not give a reply. He felt guilt burning him from the inside out because of his actions in the square, because of the risk he had taken even greeting Serah from the safe height of the transport in public. He knew the captain hadn't meant those words to dredge up all of his past mistakes, and Nooj had clearly aimed the decree at everyone in the room, but the effect was undeniable.

Once again, Hope silently nodded acceptance along with the others at the captain's immutable logic. Threading his fingers through his greasy, tangled hair, Hope clenched his hands into fists full of the messy strands in frustration. He still smelled like smoke bombs and velocycle exhaust, on top of every other point of frustration.

_Sure thing – I'll just stay out of the way. But we _will _figure out what's going on and do something ourselves, whether anyone tells us or not. _

As the group of them were dismissed and dispersed to finally get cleaned up and settled into the barracks, Hope lingered in his seat trying map out his own personal plan. If Lieutenant Baralai was overseeing their project to bring about Serah's release, he would be the go-to person for information. Getting to him was simple enough – Maqui was his new apprentice in training. That did not, however, mean they could work through him to enact a more aggressive approach to save Serah when diplomacy inevitably failed, but Sazh, Lucil, and all of NORA would be on board to work around it, somehow.

That in mind, Hope finally stood and wandered off to find the showers.

* * *

_You, giant handle-grip thingy, are Cocoon. _

Hope stood the detached gunblade handle upright, as if it were the stem of the former moon of Pulse.

_And you, shiny little necklace, are Serah._

He placed the glittering Cocoon pendant – which he had discovered tucked safely in Serah's skirt pocket – in the midst of several other elongated parts that were set up to represent his vague impression of PSICOM Central Command. His view from the transport during their flight had at least given him a clear aerial shot of the facility, so he knew to arrange everything around the base of the gunblade handle. Clusters of parts formed the facility's south, east and west wings, and he intuitively added a north wing for good measure, though he had not been able to see one from the air himself.

A sizeable chunk of the information Hope used to create his practice model came from two evenings worth of secretive discussions between himself, Sazh, and all the members of NORA. They had been meeting in the barrack's common room with Lebreau and Lucil, starting the night after Captain Nooj's briefing. None of them were satisfied with the planned measures to save Serah from captivity, favoring a more direct, preemptive strategy.

_Never underestimate connections. That's what Sazh always says._

Continuing to work with the materials, Hope spread the remaining components into accurate positions around him to stand for the nearby commercial district and the clinic, and he strung a number of pieces together for all the roads that went from PSICOM Central to the warehouse district. He had just begun distributing groups of similar bolts assigned to be GC forces when Gippal stormed across the room and cast his shadow over Hope's miniature Settlement.

"For the last time, Estheim – you can't just _gut_ the weapon for a mod like this, not without testing it out as a whole first!" the lieutenant exclaimed in irritation, waving his hand angrily at the mass of parts covering the floor in front of Hope.

No ordinary person would have ever known that the pieces were once a gunblade. A gunblade that had been disassembled down to its tiniest screw.

Hope looked up from the assortment with glazed eyes, his mind still going over the plotted arrangement. "But this is a _lot_ more complicated than an assault rifle. I-I didn't know what all the parts looked like, or how they really fit together. How can I modify something when I haven't even seen all of its components?"

Shaking his head, Gippal turned a blind, patched eye to his rather detail-oriented and screwdriver-happy apprentice, grumbling under his breath, "Screw the _diagrams_ I guess…" The lieutenant recovered almost immediately, though – he snapped his spiky head up when he spotted Lucil on the other side of the number eleven warehouse and called to her, "Hey Corporal, get over here!"

The soldier jerked to a halt, quickly jogging over at the command of her unit officer. "What do you need, Sir?" she asked, stopping next to Gippal and just outside Hope's circle of apparent destruction. She warily glanced at the scattered components on the floor and gripped her gunblade protectively.

"Don't freak out, Lucil," Hope muttered, swiping the hair out of his face for the hundredth time. "I'm not going to take _yours_ apart."

Gippal laughed and slapped the newly-advanced soldier on the back. "Kid's harmless – he just likes to know every tiny piece of whatever he's workin' on, even before he's studied the solid weapon. So what I need from you, Corporal, is a little demonstration of how a _functional _gunblade converts between forms."

"But Sir, I _know_ what that looks—" Hope tried to explain before he was immediately shushed by a sharp look from the lieutenant's uncovered eye.

Lucil did not look pleased. Her expression hardened and she stiffened, but at length she simply nodded and carefully drew her gunblade from its holster, smoothly extending it into full form. From what Hope could tell, it was clear that careful maintenance had been done on the weapon, despite understandable wear and tear on its older model styling. And based on everything except the blade, he knew it _was_ an older model – the version that Lightning would have been issued when she had enlisted, before minor aesthetic upgrades.

The blade itself was deep red.

_Light… I can't be thinking about you right now. I need to focus and keep planning. If you had been here over the last couple of days – _years_, really – you wouldn't have been scared and unsure. You would've already made a move to save Serah._

"Estheim! Hey, snap out of it!" Gippal called out, finally getting through to him.

Hope blinked hard and tried to cover for his zoning. "Sorry. What am I supposed to be learning here again?"

The lieutenant rolled his good eye and smacked a palm to his forehead. He waved a hand for Hope to get up and join them. Backing away himself, he instructed, "Alright, Corporal. I want you to shift back to gun form, extend to blade form again, lather, rinse, repeat – got it? And Hope, pay _attention_."

Nodding sheepishly, Hope positioned himself perpendicular to Lucil and the gunblade, getting a closer side-view of the harmoniously shifting components as the weapon changed forms, over and over. It was beautiful to him – something he could have studied for hours, but he could not completely tune out the dangerous aura around its wielder.

The soldier looked as stern as ever, and Hope remained confounded as to why. He knew she typically did not draw the gunblade unless she meant business, but the expression on her face was more similar to cold rage than it was to annoyance.

Hope's curiosity got the better of him, and he looked up from the blade. The instant he opened his mouth to ask her what was wrong, Lucil quickly shifted the blade into gun form for the last time and slid it into its holster again, refusing to meet his questioning eyes. Instead, she glared at Lieutenant Gippal, finally speaking her mind.

"Sir, with all due respect, this is a waste of time. I know you're trying to distract Hope with training, but the fact is, none of us are in the wrong to want to do something for Serah. And we can't just _pretend_ that isn't the real issue on everyone's minds right now. Frankly, Sir, you know as well as I do that bargaining with PSICOM is a dead end, and you _have_ detailed information about the central facility! We could use that information to—"

"_Stop_, Corporal," Gippal said between his teeth, clearly agitated. He exhaled heavily through his nose, looking down to calm himself before meeting their gazes – the soldier's cold glare and Hope's wide, incredulous eyes.

_What does he know? Did they find something out from that classified mission?_

The lieutenant explained, "Look, I know what you're trying to do, and that's admirable. But the most useful thing I can do _myself_ is to bring a proposition up to the captain and get his approval. He's my superior as much as he is all of yours, so I can't support whatever actions you guys might be scheming over unless he knows about them – and _sanctions _them. That means we would need a viable plan that could work in tandem with Baralai's mission. Do you _have_ one?"

"Well, Sir, I—" Lucil stammered, obviously surprised that he was even asking, "I don't have one myself, but Sazh and Maqui brought up some ideas that sounded pretty solid."

_Ugh, she wasn't supposed to go spouting off information. This could spell a total shutdown._

"So let's go have a talk with _them_," the lieutenant concluded unexpectedly. He turned to Hope and added, "Did you know about this, kid?"

Feeling a bit peeved, mainly at Lucil's big mouth but also at Gippal's favored nickname, Hope said curtly, "We aren't supposed to be discussing it."

The lieutenant had the audacity to smirk sardonically at Hope's annoyance. "Well, looks like the cat's out of the bag! No time to lose, I'd venture!" he exclaimed, striding toward the exit with a purpose, the corporal in tow. Hope barely had time to squat down and scoop up Serah's necklace from among the parts on the floor, pocketing it as he hustled after Lucil and the one officer taking interest in their plot.

Turning on his heel at the sound, Gippal held out a hand for Hope to stop in his tracks, halfway across the number eleven warehouse. "Not so fast, Estheim," he called. "You put that wreck of a gunblade back together, got it? I'll see you in the barracks in two hours. Don't be late."

With that, they left Hope to grumble to himself and chuck his screwdriver at the floor.

_Two hours? What does he expect, magic?_

* * *

Approximately one hour and fifty minutes later, Hope stormed into the common room of the back barracks and cast the tediously reassembled, fully functional gunblade onto a folding chair the instant he stepped through the door.

"Done," he huffed, collapsing into an empty seat beside Sazh and not looking at the assortment of faces staring at him. "Now can we_ please_ get started?"

"I'll start when you straighten out that attitude," Sazh muttered sternly under his breath, standing up in front of his chair. With that, Hope sat up straight and looked at his gloved hands covered with greasy stains from the repair project.

"Sorry."

Sazh cleared his throat in response and looked across the room at where Gippal sat, his smug expression over Hope's fit of aggravation turning to a serious attentiveness toward the man who had taken charge.

"Thank you for joining us, Sir," Sazh began. "I'm sure you must've had other obligations—"

"Nothing more pressing than this, believe me," the lieutenant cut in. "Now I'd like to hear this plan of yours, and if it's really got potential, I have every intention of taking it up to the captain. I _don't_ mess around."

Nodding once, Sazh replied, "Yessir. Half of it's got to do with Maqui's latest intercepts, though, so if you don't mind I'd rather he explain that first."

Hope smirked at the sudden anxiety that seized his friend's every feature. Maqui looked from Sazh to Gippal in surprise, and the lieutenant chuckled. "C'mon blondie, let's hear it," he urged in his casual manner, but it was nonetheless an order.

"Well, Sir, you know I-I set up the different antennas in the settlement and I'm pretty much the central point of contact for the comms network," Maqui finally started in, trying not to waste time with his explanation. "So it makes sense that I would pick up intelligible interference from other signals sometimes – and I did, but I just-I didn't know what it was at first, or what to do with it. Lieutenant Baralai's been explaining the signal mix-ups to me, so a couple of days ago I started focusing on where they were coming from. I've been to the hub where we have some recordings from those frequencies too, and here's what I uncovered." He stopped to clear his throat and took a deep breath.

"Turns out that PSICOM's been relaying communications through our antennas, but they buried their messages underneath _our_ signal, so I had to tweak one of the receivers to tune us out and listen to them. They're amplifying their broadcasts from at least one point of origin in the north. I just couldn't-I mean I haven't been able to pin it down, yet. The signal's scope is _massive_."

Stopping to take the ever-present headset off, Maqui looked at the equipment in his hands for a moment before continuing with reservation. "But from what I've heard, this is the most relevant information. First, we have locational data – we know PSICOM Central has four wings surrounding the stem of Cocoon, connected by diagonal passage networks in the southwest, southeast, and northeast. The northwest is different, but I'll let Sazh explain why in a minute. Anyway, we've also heard sentries over the airwaves expressing frustration about the movement of our transport tomorrow from the square to a loading dock somewhere around the facility. But best of all, they're chattering about a new detainee – I feel confident that it has to be Serah."

At that point, Gippal cut in, "Wait-wait a sec. So they've mentioned her, but did they say anything useful? She could be _anywhere_ in that huge facility."

There was barely a breath of pause, leaving everyone in the room on edge – Hope included. He hadn't heard all of those details, not until that moment. Thankfully, Maqui did not flinch in his response.

"Oh yeah, they definitely did. It could just be rumors, but several different sentries have said stuff about Research and Development and referenced the north wing when they mentioned l'Cie in general," he said immediately, already much more excited than he had been nervous before. "If we could just figure out _exactly_ where R & D is inside the wing, I actually think that Serah, Snow and Lightning are _all _there."

Hope honestly thought his heart stopped for a beat or so. When it started again, his pulse was racing with anticipation, but he managed to keep his mouth shut for Sazh to pick up where Maqui had left off.

The lieutenant had not bothered to comment on so much critical information, but turned his good eye toward Sazh like everyone else, waiting.

Sazh crossed his arms, looking down at his boots to get his bearings, and then raised his head to face Maqui. "Thanks for the intro, Maqui," he said sincerely, shaking off the last of his anxiety before turning toward the lieutenant to continue.

"With regard to the northwest part of the central facility, my information's more limited, but I'd say just as reliable as those intercepts. On the first test run in the transport, I wasn't flyin' myself, so I caught sight of a loading dock area just north of the west wing and zoomed in with the sights. Sentries were hauling supplies, and a few personnel checking the items in and out weren't military, for sure – they were wearing black lab coats over regular white clothes, like doctors."

"Sounds like you've confirmed the same information we were after with our ground mission," Gippal remarked, sitting back to cock his head to one side and glance upward, as though considering his options. "No sense keeping it confidential now – you know it for yourselves. The only thing I can really add is some clarification."

He stood to his feet abruptly and clapped his hands together once, jarring the already anxious audience in the room. "For starters, what's said in this room stays in this room, understood?" Pausing, he waited for everyone to mutter their assent before he would continue.

"Alright, then. Let me begin by saying that you, Maqui, are obligated to tell Lieutenant Baralai about those intercepts, if you haven't already. And I seriously think you're the only person who knows about them – hell, this is the first _I've _heard. Baralai is the head over Intel as well as your trainer, so he oughtta know."

"Roger that, Sir," Maqui immediately replied, waving his hands defensively. "I didn't-I didn't tell him yet because I just found out a bunch of this stuff last night, but I swear I will."

"Fine, you do that. No need to spaz," Gippal replied with a smirk. "As for everyone else, you need to know that our mission last week did in fact scout out a supply line from the quarantine facility to a loading area between the north and west wings. That makes every kind of sense if the north wing is the site for Research and Development, but it wouldn't explain the secondary use for that loading dock. We confirmed that, in addition to the lab supplies passing between the locations, PSICOM uses that same entry site – mostly after dark – to haul in equipment and vehicles for repair."

"Seriously?" Maqui exclaimed, unable to contain himself. "Do you think that's where they're going to—"

"Haul in our transport? Yes. I was about to let everyone in on that, thanks," the lieutenant remarked in his snarky fashion, but he didn't actually seem angry at his former apprentice. Either way, Maqui shut his mouth for the remainder of the account.

Gippal continued, "I've been trying to negotiate the return of our transport for repairs, even back when you guys were hiding out. PSICOM is being resistant, saying they want to repair it inside their facility, and I've already made it clear that their mechanics won't be able to work with the crazy Pulsian technology of the ship. So they're gonna have us send over a team to repair it – a team they scan thoroughly and keep constant watch on, but a team _inside _PSICOM Central nonetheless."

"I can see right through 'em, and I know they won't be handing over the ship any more than they would hand over Serah. I'm sure they expect us to just fix it up so they can have another vehicle for their own uses. Which is precisely why our team will also include disguised insurgent forces and a pilot."

Once he had finished, the lieutenant flopped back into his chair to remark with finality, "And _that_, my eager little activists, is gonna be Serah's ticket home."

Both Hope and Sazh were already more excited than Maqui had been, and Sazh spoke for both of them when he asked almost immediately, "Sir, are you sayin' we're going to be a part of this team? I've got a lot of experience with emergency flights, and Hope knows more about that transport—"

"Hold it, Sazh," Gippal cut in, raising his hand. He didn't sound surprised, but his mouth tightened in the way that generally meant unpleasant news would be forthcoming. "I know you guys are – strictly speaking – _the_ best pilot and mechanic for the job, but the two of you are PSICOM's primary targets. I couldn't possibly send either of you into Central with a clear conscience. They would recognise you both right off the bat, and Maker knows what would happen next."

_No – just no! We were the reason Serah was arrested, and we should be willing to risk anything to get her back._

As high as Hope's heart had risen on the buoyancy of prospective action to save Serah, it crashed almost as far from the lieutenant's decree. He could no longer keep silent.

"But we _have_ to do something!" he pleaded. "You can't expect us to just sit around like-like _cowards_—"

"Neither of you are anything _close _to cowards," Gippal interjected sharply, freezing Hope with his one-eyed look of disdain. "I don't want to hear another word from you about this, Estheim. That's final. And just so you fully understand, here's how it's gonna work _without_ targets on this team. First, Maqui was your trainer, and he's just as qualified, if not _more_ so to handle the mechanical repairs to the transport. As for a pilot, we have a staff sergeant who can fill that role – he flew the first test run, so I trust him. You and Sazh are gonna stay in the loop, mark my words, but you'll have to learn to live with long-distance support roles. Am I clear?"

Tongue-tied with frustration and embarrassment, Hope looked at the floor and muttered bitterly, "Yes, Sir."

"Clear, Sir," Sazh echoed, though in a much more steady, controlled fashion.

From that point, Hope distantly followed along with the closing comments and questions from the rest of their group, deflated but still anxious for something to begin that would bring them to Serah, however involved he was. In the end, saving her was what mattered above all.

He had completely swallowed his doubts and his wounded pride, one spoonful of thought after another, by the time the meeting concluded. As the NORA members left, each to think over their roles in a plan that would go before the captain within twenty-four hours, Hope picked up the gunblade he had tossed aside over an hour before.

"Lieutenant, wait a minute," Hope called, holding out the gunblade toward his trainer in both hands like a peace offering. "It's fixed… and I-I apologise for what I said earlier."

Gippal raised his one visible eyebrow, taking the gunblade and testing it for a smooth transition between forms. "Nicely done, Estheim. Just don't let it go to your head – and I mean that_ literally_. That mop of yours is gonna end up jammed in a gunblade gear, and that _won't_ be on me. Get a haircut, kid."

He spun round and walked out in his usual cocky fashion without another word, and Hope let out a heavy sigh of aggravation. He was almost glad that there were more things to worry about than weapons training with an officer so determined to make him walk a perfect line.

_I could never enlist. I'd end up charged with insubordination, even if he is trying to help Serah now. Then again, it's always the soldiers who get to make an impact and save the day._

And saving Serah… that was going to be a complicated mission. He leaned against the open door to the empty room, wondering in frustration how it would be possible for him to reach her when he couldn't set foot outside the Guardian Corps complex. Sooner or later, it seemed everyone he cared about was pulled beyond his reach.

* * *

Days had passed, their number unknowable. Serah was only minutely aware of anything anymore – her mind clung obstinately to the five-digit number, the need for her communicator, and the desire to get hold of a weapon and escape. As time wore on she felt her body being perpetually starved and dehydrated, barely supplemented with an IV on occasion in order ensure her survival.

She had no idea how many different drugs had come and gone through her system, some painful beyond belief and some more subtly frightening. The most recent one had brought on a violent emotional reaction, leaving her crying for hours over losses long since buried and calling for everyone she cared about – her mother, her friends, her sister, Snow, Hope…

_They can't reach me here. They're all dead, or frozen, or shut out. I'm all I have left._

Those were the words echoing in her head when the doctor returned to the room, looking bored as Serah lay on the table unblinking and mute, recovering during the lull between rounds of torment. She could not have spoken if she had wanted to. And she did not want to.

"Well, well, well – it seems you are a rather special case, after all," the doctor grumbled, finally bothering to speak. He was clearly in a foul mood. Serah distantly wondered if she simply hadn't screamed and cried loudly enough during the last round, or if there was something else behind it.

"Oh yes,_ so_ special, in fact, that they're ordering a transfer," he went on, the volume of his voice rising in hardly suppressed anger.

_A transfer? To somewhere better, or somewhere worse? I guess it doesn't matter. Any place is better than here._

The doctor glowered down at her before he gripped the frazzled braid at the back of her head and pulled up to lift her dull gaze directly toward himself. "Did you know just how special you are, little doll? _Did_ you?" He tightened his grip on her hair, making her eyes water automatically.

"You must have known that your blood absolutely _rejects_ infection by this quarantined Pulsian virus," he declared furiously, now at such close range that some spit hit her face. "There is no _possible_ way you were unaware, living for years in perfect health – not after the disease and death you were exposed to as an intern! And all this time, you took me for a fool, _knowing_ I couldn't keep you here for long if the department discovered this. But mark my words, that won't always be the case – certainly not for your 'brother,' when they eventually bring him in. He is _clearly _not immune."

_Immune? My blood is immune to the virus? How is that possible?_

Releasing her head to let it fall back against the table with a thud, the doctor turned his attention to digging through his drawer of chemicals again. He returned to her side with a syringe of yellowish liquid.

"This should keep you in line, at least. I'll not have a patient of mine behaving like a wild animal loosed from its cage," he remarked, calming down considerably as his usual curiosity surfaced again, once he had plunged the syringe into her arm.

"You should be grateful for the privilege to be my first human subject to receive this treatment. It's a special blend for a special patient, after all – doesn't even have a proper name. Perhaps I should name it after your little brother, for good measure, since he seems to have you wrapped around his finger. You wouldn't believe how many times you cried for him. Tragic, really, that it had no effect."

_I cried for Hope? But I don't want him to come here – not within miles of this place, and not within a thousand miles of _you_…_

Serah felt oddly blank once the injection sank in, an effect that seemed familiar. It was different than before, though – her eyesight sharpened rather than blurring with pain, and she experienced the uncanny sensation of floating. However, she was still numb and compliant when the doctor released the clamps on her ankles and wrists and helped her to stand, ordering her to put her clothing back on.

Serah got dressed methodically as always, wondering at the lightness of her body and clothes. She felt a vague, unnamable joy at seeing the communicator among the articles, but she could not remember its importance. As it was, she automatically kept it tucked within her bra and out of sight, not giving it a second thought.

Once she was clothed, the doctor led her back to sit on the end of the table and checked her reflexes like it was a normal examination. He seemed pleased enough with her condition, and even gave her water to counter the dehydration his latest drug would eventually cause.

The instant he shined a light into her eye to continue his routine checkup, however, something was triggered in Serah's head. She felt her eye twitch, and her body began to tremble with adrenaline while her pulse shot up. She was suddenly sweating uncontrollably and inexplicably panicked.

_What-what is this? What am I seeing?_

It was impossible, but right before her wide-open eyes, every reflection and spot of shadow in the room began to take on monstrous colors and forms, webs of dark red and yellow filming on the walls and inky spider forms crawling on the ceiling. Worst of all, she witnessed the doctor in front of her take on the menacing, glassy eyes and chelicerae of an arachnid.

He spoke, and the mandibles snapped at her. When he raised a hairy, pointed appendage where his arm had once been, complete with feeler-like fingers that grasped at her arm, she lost all grip on control and screamed in terror.

Serah kicked the giant humanoid spider square in the abdomen, horrified when it flew backward but recovered quickly, already after her again. She leapt sideways from the table, instinctively reaching for the gleaming scalpel inside the open metal drawer to her left.

Serah ran behind the brightly lit table between herself and the hideous spider stumbling toward her, its glowing eyes glaring murderously at her while six additional black legs formed from the blob of darkness around it and spread out on both sides.

"What do you hope to accomplish, weak as you are?" it asked in a strangely human voice, but all Serah could see were the dripping, moving mandibles on that face below cold, bulbous eyes. She had no idea what was going on – only that she had to kill the thing before it poisoned her and probably sucked out her liquefied insides, like a trapped fly.

When the bipedal arachnid made its way around the table, forcing Serah into the corner and reaching its fingerlike feelers toward her arms to trap her, she lashed out again, nicking one outstretched appendage with her scalpel. Enraged, the spider thrust out both its front legs to wrap its feelers around her neck and began to choke her, cursing and tightening its grip.

In those close quarters, before dizziness could take hold of her, Serah seized her final chance to fight back. The sharp weapon in hand, she lunged forward and reached around to stab the scalpel down at an angle into the side of the spider's neck with all her strength, pressing it in as far as she could and hoping to goodness that it would be effective. She was flooded with relief when blood sprayed onto her face and shirt from a pierced artery, and the spider let out a choked, gurgling screech.

Once the creature released its grip on her neck, Serah leveraged herself against the wall and kicked the thing away from her, afraid it could strike at her in its death throes. Instead, it reeled backward and hit the table with a crack, crumpling to the floor to curl up and quiver on its side. It clawed at the scalpel lodged in its neck ineffectually as it coughed and spluttered, spitting more blood onto the floor from its mandibles to add to a growing crimson puddle from the gushing wound. Serah could smell the biting iron scent in the air, but the spider's body still shuddered where it lay. She felt dizzy and overwhelmed with the all too familiar stench, doubling over to vomit on the waxed floor.

_I have to run – I have to get out of this room!_

Still terrified and bloody, she couldn't bring herself to approach – much less _touch_ – the monster even after it stilled entirely, partly because its eyes continued to eerily reflect a glare from the light in her direction. She slid down in the corner and huddled against her knees, quaking with fear and adrenaline.

Serah tried undoing her braid and massaging her throbbing head, closing her eyes for long stretches at a time – all to no avail. It took several minutes for the images of webs to clear from her perception of the room, and only after her heartbeat began to slow did her vision truly normalize. The hairy feelers on the creature's unmoving appendages smoothed and shaped themselves into gloved fingers, the multiple black legs bled into a single, solid lab coat, and the round, glowing eyes regained the rectangular edging of the glasses on the doctor's deathly pale face.

_I-I hallucinated all of that? I should've known it was in my head, just a terrible reaction with the drugs, but it was so _real_… _

Serah was both horrified and relieved, and then horrified anew that she had_ felt_ relieved for killing a person. The drug in her system continued to smother a full emotional response, however, and she found it surprisingly simple to push forward with her plans. She stood shakily to her feet, stumbled and almost slipped in the blood to get to the doctor's body, and dug through his lab coat pockets to recover the keycard to the room.

Out in the hall, Serah took off at an unsteady run, weaving down innumerable silent corridors as she tread bloody footprints. The glowing walls from the black lights were dizzying, and her own footsteps made an eerie, echoing sound that had her jumping at every turn. She shoved fearfully past a lone staff member clad in black without speaking or stopping, and the startled man had seemed just as eager to scurry away to his intended destination without bothering with the wild, blood-stained woman.

Serah struggled along for an indefinitely long time before she finally found herself in front of a pair of metallic double doors, instinctively knowing that it would be better on the other side of them than it was in the frightening white landscape that ensnared her. She shoved the right door open, smearing a rusty handprint on the inside surface and charging through a second set of similar doors.

The other side of the metal exit proved less of a challenge with its handful of familiar landmarks, but she felt gradually weaker as she trudged forward, finally leaning against one of the cool walls when a wave of dizziness threatened to bowl her over. She closed her eyes, trying to think straight.

_It's wearing off. That drug, whatever it was… _

"Serah? Miss Farron, what are you doing out here?" someone called out, his voice carrying down the corridor. Serah tried to focus toward the sound, but her vision blurred and she crumpled down to her knees, resting her cheek against the wall. When she opened her eyes a moment later, a familiar PSICOM mask was in front of her face. She flinched back in confusion and fear, but when he removed his helmet, she recognised him definitively.

_Miles! _

As her eyes searched his worried expression, Serah wondered if he would even be willing to risk helping her. She tried to speak her thoughts or explain herself, her voice rasping and slurred. "There was… doctor… I-I thought… didn't mean to… to…"

"Shh, don't get yourself worked up," he said softly, and she gave up trying to speak.

One other sentry stood behind him, glancing around fearfully as he whispered to the crouching captain, "Sir, we should move. If she's a prisoner here they might think—"

"I'm aware of that," Miles cut in brusquely. "We need to get her out of here, _now_. I'm holding you in the strictest confidence, do you understand?"

"I… I understand, Sir," the sentry replied with little hesitation. Immediately after, Serah felt her exhausted body being lifted from the floor and rushed along through the cool, pure air. Her drooping eyelids were closed for longer intervals – she caught only fleeting images of the metal walls flashing by as the captain took her down corridor after corridor to some unknown destination. She didn't care one iota, clinging to the hope of safety.

Somewhere beyond room forty-nine and cell block F, it had to exist.


	11. Sleep, hope, wait

**A/N: I am SO sorry that this update is coming quite late, but it is what it is I guess – the product of myself and my beta-roomie being crazy busy for a couple of weeks :P I definitely did some OVERediting. Anyway, as I've kept you all waiting long enough, I won't ramble too much. Just PLEASE do post a review! I could probably survive another hectic week on the power of reviews alone, and that ALWAYS makes it easier to get the juices flowing with the chapter in progress XD No new terms this time around, either (to my knowledge), so let's get this started.**

Sleep, hope, wait

"Well, this is it."

Maqui hesitantly removed his headset and thrust it toward Hope, turning away as he did so. "Just _take_ it already."

"Are you sure?" Hope remarked in disbelief, quirking an eyebrow. "Because you look like you're expecting me to take your _arm_ off."

Maqui refused to face him and kept his eyes pinched shut, unwilling to even watch the device leave his hands. "Yeah, I'm sure! Now hurry up, so I can get this over with and show you how the thing works."

"Whatever you say." Hope shrugged, reaching out to gently pry the headset free of Maqui's fingers. He knew there would be hell to pay if he dared to even scratch it.

Turning the device over to inspect its halves, Hope noticed a series of numbered buttons arranged in a ring like a clock's face around a large, central button on the right earpiece, as well as a couple of dials and a wire-like microphone on the left earpiece. There was one other outstanding feature – a bright red switch on the top of the right earpiece, near where it connected with the band. Hope was fascinated by the unknown switch, so much so that he reached out a gloved finger to touch it, wishing to flick it on but knowing better.

He looked up to see Maqui's almost tearful expression over the loss of his favored piece of electronic equipment. Adjusting his goggles on his head, his friend shook it off and tried to move on.

"Looks like you found the silencer," Maqui commented flatly.

Hope was somehow further intrigued, his green eyes lighting up. "Silencer? Like on a gun?"

"Not exactly, but there's a similar principle behind it. It functions kind of like noise-cancelling, just over the airwaves instead of being limited to the room," Maqui explained, pointing instead to the buttons on the same earpiece as the switch.

"But first, let's get the basics down. These buttons are each on a different channel that receives and transmits messages over our antennas – there are twelve channels programmed in. Normally, you'll be listening passively, just waiting for someone to call one of the channels. You can tell which channel is calling by its specific sound in a rising scale, like on archaic telephones. Each channel has a different tone that beeps when a call is incoming, with channel one being the lowest-pitched tone and twelve being the highest."

Hope looked up from the buttons to Maqui, and then back to the buttons in mild panic. "How-how am I supposed to memorize all of these tones? It's not like I have a background in music!"

"Here," Maqui sighed in mock impatience, grabbing the headset to settle it onto Hope's head and adjusting the band to fit. He then pulled the small, flexible microphone extension into position. "Now just hang tight, and I'll make a few calls. Listen for the tone and press the correct button to answer me, starting with channel one at the one o'clock position, 'kay?"

Flipping open a separate handheld communicator, Maqui crossed the room and ducked behind a cluster of crates. Within the headset, Hope could still hear other voices just outside the warehouse quite clearly, but the ambient noise was considerably muted.

He focused into the silence, and shortly afterward he heard a fairly low-pitched series of three beeps, like an alarm. He raised his hand to the earpiece and felt his way from the channel 12 button at the top middle – which had a conspicuous bump – over to the next button clockwise and pressed it.

"H-hello, this is Hope," he said, unsure of the protocol.

There was a short burst of static, and Maqui nearly choked on his laughter before he replied, "'Hello, this is Hope?' Really? This is a military comms network. From now on, I wanna hear 'Loud and clear, please identify' from you, got it? You're the network host – it's the other caller's responsibility to give identification, _not_ yours."

Hope rolled his eyes and pressed the button again, muttering in annoyance, "Roger."

"Good. We're moving up a channel. Over and out."

They repeated the process for every numbered channel in the same fashion, until Maqui landed on channel nine.

Answering as he had every time since the first attempt, Hope said confidently, "Loud and clear, please identify."

"I'm breaking the practice lines for a reason, Hope, so listen up," Maqui began, unsettling the comfortable routine.

"Channel nine is a dedicated emergency frequency, so if anyone calls over this channel, you'd better pay special attention and make mental notes. Now I'm gonna call this channel again, just so you can hear the tone and make it stick. And I want you to do me a favor and flip that silencer switch when I do. That'll be standard procedure _any_ time you hear channel nine call up, understood?"

"Understood." Hope listened in the silence for a few seconds before hearing the familiar upper-middle range tone. He anxiously flicked the silencer on. Instantaneously, the slight buzzing within the headset and various muted sounds in the room disappeared altogether. Pressing the channel nine button, he responded in wonder, "Loud and _perfectly_ clear, please identify."

Maqui snorted in clear amusement on the other end of the line. "Dude, don't ever say _that_ in the event of a real emergency! The silencer is a tricky little sucker that sharpens your signal while blasting a wave of noise at any surrounding frequencies to make an interference-proof tunnel. It saps a lot of power, so anything you say while it's on had better be life-or-death important – you won't have time to screw around."

"Roger that. Out," Hope said in deliberately fast, staccato syllables, and then he flipped off the switch.

Wrapping it up, they ran through all twelve channels a few more times for familiarity, until Maqui was finally satisfied. He explained the use of the larger, centered button for a broadcast across all the channels at once, but instructed Hope to never use it unless explicitly ordered to do so.

"One last thing," he said casually, lowering the headset from Hope's head to roughly muss the shortened shock of hair under it.

"You should definitely stick with this look. It works."

Hope grinned crookedly and ran his hands through the much lighter hairstyle to straighten it, but to no avail. He knew the messy layers would go whichever way they wanted, and with only two or three inches of length at most in any given section of the choppy cut, there was no bulk to hold them back. The longest layers framed his face a bit, but that was as much as he had been allowed.

_Dad would've endorsed this cut – he would've said it's less 'childish.' He never did like how Mom let me grow my hair out in middle school._

"You can thank Gippal for his ultimatum," Hope remarked, stuffing his hands into his pockets, "and Yuj for the cut. I hope Serah doesn't shed too many tears over it when you guys get back."

_Or any tears at all, for that matter. I just want her to be here, and happy again._

Maqui chuckled shortly and shrugged. "She'll live – unless she really hates the bed-head look with a burning passion."

"I can take it," Hope muttered, the weight of everything he'd been trying not to worry about pressing onto his mind with renewed force. "Just find her – find all of them, okay? And don't get yourself caught. Because I swear, if I hear the team's been captured or something even worse, they won't be able to keep me here. I _will_ get out. I'll find a gunblade, a sledgehammer, or even a really massive wrench and bust into Central myself if I have to."

Fleeting concern took the mirth from Maqui's smile and betrayed him when he scoffed, "Ha, as if failure's even an option. But if you do decide to try anything crazy – and you'd better _not_ – just be sure to work with Sazh or someone else, and don't even _think_ about using that stupid boomerang. That's the _worst_ weapon in the history of—"

"Maqui!" someone shouted from the warehouse's side entrance, and Hope looked around the other boy to see a very aggravated woman storming toward both of them with a vengeance. At first, the deep auburn ponytail whipping out behind her and the plain mechanic's coveralls she was wearing made Hope do a double-take, but her dangerous, catlike gait and threatening voice gave Lucil away when she continued yelling at Maqui, "I've been looking all over the _district_ for you!"

_Wow. Guess I never do see female soldiers out of uniform. And you'd think those ridiculously short skirts would be _more _attractive, not less. Maybe I'm just used to them by now, or maybe girls just fill out the coveralls really well…_

"Well hey, you found me," Maqui replied nonchalantly. "And before you ask, I _do_ know what time it is." He raised his arm and pointed at the watch with a teasing smirk. Hope wasn't sure whether to be impressed by his friend's lack of reaction – Maqui either knew what to expect from Lucil's appearance or he was very good at hiding his surprise.

Suddenly right in both of their bubbles, the soldier's cheeks were about as red as her formerly flaming hair, flushed with anger and exertion, and the effect seemed to light up her cerulean eyes – albeit with the spark of indignation. Hope was all too familiar with that look, even if it had been a year and a half since he'd last seen _her_ face. He unconsciously stepped back from a perceived heat flaring up in their midst, but it stubbornly clung to him in a tingling haze. He was far from pleased to discover his own body to be the source, cursing his elevated heart rate and annoying impulses in the safety of his mind.

_Ugh, I wish I could blame this on magic. Casting fira would be preferable – at least that involves release._

"Do you even have your tools stowed for transit? We really can't risk being late on this mission!" Lucil continued to rant, thankfully not in his direction.

"I'm aware, Corporal Incognito," Maqui cut in, sounding bored. "All my stuff's ready to go, but this was important. Hope's gonna do my job for me till we get back, and it's a tall order."

_Oh no, please don't bring me into this right now…_

Hope had been more than happy to stand aside from their conversation and get his bearings, but Maqui effectively compromised his detached position. Turning to him, Lucil's eyes widened in surprise. She looked down at the headset resting atop his collarbones, and then back up to his face, blinking in confusion.

_For shame, Hope. Way to look like every other idiotic teenage boy around a pretty girl. Apparently no amount of reasoning can turn off these stupid hormones._

"Well, good luck," Lucil said stiffly, bringing a hand to her hip. "Nice haircut, by the way." She turned abruptly to stalk back the way she had come, straight out the exit with the ponytail lashing side to side behind her.

_Look away, look away… Wait, wasn't she supposed to take Maqui with her?_

As if hearing his thoughts, Maqui jabbed him lightly in the ribs with his elbow.

"What?" Hope snapped, narrowing his eyes at his friend's sly expression. "I'm just surprised she didn't drag you off."

Maqui was undeterred. "Yeah, sure. You really do like older girls, huh? Or should I say _women_."

Hope stood rigid in defense, balling his hands into fists within his pockets. "Are you insane?! I'm a sixteen-year-old toothpick. And I do _not_ have a thing for Lucil – she's my escort!"

Knowing it was only a half-truth, Hope fought the flames under his cheeks, as blushing would only egg the instigator on. Specifically, Maqui was off-target with his insinuation about Lucil – discounting the random sense of attraction – but his statement was valid. And that was not something Hope wanted to expound upon.

_Not now, not ever. Only Serah sort of knows, and that's already too much._

"Right," Maqui dragged out, distancing himself as he meandered toward the exit. "So _that's _what they're calling it these days."

Maqui looked back over his shoulder, still smirking as he witnessed animosity consume Hope's entire being. He practically radiated it.

"You are _dead_," Hope said between his clenched teeth. Without hesitation, he took off at a sprint across the warehouse, rapidly closing the gap between them. While he knew he could catch Maqui before the idiot could run his mouth further, he was also trying to be careful with the headset around his neck. It slowed him down just enough that Maqui made it out the door scot-free and took off down the street.

Standing in the doorway, Hope was unwilling to make a scene by continuing the chase. He watched the dust trail rise and settle behind Maqui's shrinking form, and he shrugged off his previous aggravation. As usual, the brief run had cleared his head.

_He's just being a goofball – probably feels more nervous than I do about this mission. Besides, I need to meet up with Sazh and see what kind of plan we're working with on this side. Maybe support will turn out more useful than I thought._

"Well," he sighed, securing the headset over his ears again, "this really_ is_ it."

* * *

Serah blinked her heavy lids at the unfamiliar ceiling above. It wasn't the shocking, purple-tinted white of room forty-nine's ceiling, but a normal cream color darkened by the dim lighting of the room. A soft glow issued from a lamp at the bedside, and that was all. Stiffly rolling onto her side under the covers, Serah focused her bleary eyes on a thin line of brighter light shining through a cracked door.

_Where did Miles take me? This place doesn't look anything like PSICOM Central._

Moments later, the door swung open and Serah squinted toward the painful brightness, seeing only the silhouette of an approaching female in uniform. The lack of a helmet and outline of the hair hanging in wisps around her head made Serah's heart seize up in a wild, unexpected hope.

_It can't be… That can't be Sis, can it? Am I dreaming?_

The dull beginnings of a headache and her growling stomach confirmed her waking state. But when the woman reached the bedside and tilted her head down to check on Serah, her features came into the light. She was wearing a PSICOM uniform, and her short, dark hair fell just to her shoulders.

Serah's heart sank. Still, the sentry looked down with concerned brown eyes and a kind smile, and that was a great deal more than Serah had been fortunate to see in the days before her escape.

"Good, you've finally come 'round," the woman said in a bright voice, holding up a glass that contained some kind of juice. "Can you drink this? You must be dying of thirst by now."

That had not occurred to Serah, but she noticed with a shock just how parched her throat had become. Swallowing felt like raking sandpaper over her esophagus. She nodded slowly and struggled to sit up against the pillows, assisted by the sentry. The woman held the glass to her mouth and helped her to drink the liquid in small sips.

"H-how long… was I…?" Serah asked hoarsely, once the juice was finished and her throat managed to work.

The sentry set the glass aside and checked her watch. "I'd say it's been about twelve hours. But don't worry – you're safe here, and I changed those bloody clothes for you a while ago." She jumped slightly as if she had forgotten something important and stuck out her hand, smiling again as she said, "I'm Specialist Elma, by the way."

"I'm Ser-ah." Her voice cracking, Serah tried to smile nonetheless as she weakly shook the sentry's hand. She was still lost on their location, though, and she asked worriedly, "Wh-where—?"

"Oh, this is just the captain's quarters," Elma replied, wandering back toward the adjacent room with the empty glass in hand while she continued to explain. "Officer housing is actually connected to Central's main facility, but there are privacy laws that protect the personal quarters of higher-ups from surveillance – just in case you wanted to know why you were laid up in some random officer's bed." She laughed at that, exiting the room and returning shortly with a bottle of water.

"Nothing to be concerned about though, believe me. I'm here for accountability, and because the captain's decent enough to leave changing the clothes of a traumatized woman in the care of another female. You can't imagine how relieved we were to discover all that blood wasn't yours. There isn't a scratch on you!"

_Traumatized? I'm not – or at least I don't_ look_ hurt. But all the blood…_

It was as if a dam broke in her mind. Serah was suddenly submerged in a flood of memories, finding it difficult to breathe. She could feel the blood spattered on her face again, as it sprayed her clothing and pooled on the floor. Buckets of it. She could hear the snap of the doctor's gloves, the way they hovered around her, glowing white. Worse still, she could hear his dry laugh echoing in her ears. The images of syringes and webs, the gleaming scalpel and the terrifying spider, all swirled round and round before her closed eyes.

The shock of it all was so tangible that she quaked like a fluttering leaf, breathing in rapid, sharp gasps.

"No… no, no, no…" Serah muttered over and over, shaking her head as if that could clear it of all the scenes she wished to erase from her brain.

_I did that – I killed that doctor. Another human being. And I can't just excuse it for self-defense or hallucinations, because I _wanted_ to kill him, actually planned to do it. What kind of a medic am I?! _

She ran her fingers up into her hair and felt scattered clumps of dried blood. It infuriated and horrified her, so she yanked through them and succeeded in pulling loose some of the hairs that were clotted together. But she couldn't seem to get at all of it, and the more she fought, the more she panicked and cried.

"Get it _off_!I have to-to get it all off…"

By that time the female sentry was back at the bedside, trying to soothe Serah with words and calmly ease her hands out of her hair, but Serah would have none of it. She stubbornly dug her fingers into her scalp, jerking back from the woman's grip. Hot tears were smeared all over her face, and a few strands of hair stuck to them when she shook her head emphatically.

"Okay, I understand, just wait a minute and we'll help you," Elma reasoned, her brow creased with worry. She backed away slowly before turning to lean through the still-open door for a brief moment – only long enough to call into the adjacent room, "Captain, you're needed in here!"

It seemed that he instantly materialized in the room, as fast as he entered the door and was at the bed. Serah paused in her struggle when she saw the familiar face of her proven ally. The beginnings of dark circles under the captain's eyes stood out garishly in the lamplight – evidence that he had clearly been dealing with the situation for the past twelve hours.

_Now I've gone and caused trouble for someone else. Maker knows what's going to happen to Miles for helping me. The least I can do is calm down._

For a long moment, the captain sat in silence on the edge of the bed and observed her. Serah still shivered at the remnants of fearful memories, trying to will her breathing back to normal, but she couldn't seem to make her hands leave her hair.

"I-I shouldn't, I shouldn't have…" she stammered, shaking her head again. If they knew the blood that had covered her belonged to someone else, they had likely figured out who it was, and perhaps knew she was at fault.

Serah fumbled in her attempt to explain, "But the doctor s-said he would – I mean he was going to-to…"

_He was going to go after Hope next._

Miles reached slowly toward her, carefully guiding her wrists down, inch by inch, until she let her hands fall to her lap in defeat. "Serah, can you tell me what happened?" he asked evenly, though his eyes were still clouded with concern. "It's okay if you don't want to give me details or you need a little time, but I intend to file a serious grievance against Research and Development if I can do it without revealing your identity. Either way, something's got to be done for you."

He began fishing around in his pockets, thoroughly searching for some item on his person as he continued, "We have your clothes sealed for evidence, and I'm sorry to say you can't wash off any more evidence until we get you out of here to a doctor that isn't affiliated with PSICOM. I've already been in touch with one of your people – we managed to contact them with the help of a technician friend of mine over in Communications. He really knows his gadgets, and he sort of owed me a favor."

Unthinkingly, Serah's hand flew to her chest. She could no longer feel the edge of the communicator tucked into her bra under the fresh white t-shirt, and she immediately jolted with panic. Her eyes and hands checked everywhere around, to no avail.

"Where is it? I just had it, I _know_ I did, it was right-right here—"

Taking hold of one of her wildly searching hands, the captain regained her attention and said with cautious insistence, "It's alright. Elma found the communicator, and I still have it here." With his other hand, he finally produced the device from a small breast pocket and held it out to her. "But I have no idea how we were able to get through at this range – I'd have to ask communications, and that might look suspicious. Anyway, when my call went through and I explained that I was speaking on your behalf, the guy on the other end was pretty adamant about wanting to know how I had gotten your communicator, and he refused to identify himself as anything but the 'network host' or some techie-nonsense."

_He must've been talking to Maqui. Pretty sure that's what network host means._

"I was finally able to convince him about your situation, but he's waiting to speak with you directly before making a move. He said to call channel nine. Do you know what that means?"

Serah nodded quickly and snatched the device from his hand like it was the last vaccine for an epidemic. She dialed in to channel nine, holding her breath while the signal made its journey across the settlement. When a beep sounded on the other end of the line, she almost forgot how to exhale. There was a rush of static before it suddenly dropped to dead air, followed by an all-too-familiar voice.

"Loud and clear, please identify," he articulated, and Serah was bewildered and overwhelmed with joy all at once. She was shaking so badly that she almost dropped the communicator, but she finally mashed the push-to-talk button.

"Hope – Hope, i-is that you? It's Serah!"

He replied a bit too loudly at first, his excited voice tinged with concern and relief. "Serah! Maker, are you okay? Some strange officer called on your communicator last time, and I thought he was trying to trick us into giving away information!"

"O-oh, I'm fine, and that officer was—" she began, but Miles squeezed her hand and shook his head, trying to get a message across. She could understand from the gesture that he didn't want to be identified. Serah corrected herself and continued, "That was just the captain who-who got me out."

"Out? Out of where?"

_Out of hell._

"Out…o-of…" Serah stuttered, wishing for the hundredth time that she could forget the very existence of Research and Development. She shivered at the thought, finally compromising to explain, "Out of Central."

At that point in the conversation, Miles quietly excused himself to give her some privacy, and he left the room along with his subordinate.

When Hope spoke again, he sounded confused. "Wait – you aren't even inside _Central_ now? Weren't you stuck in R & D somewhere?"

"I…" she hesitated, taking a deep breath. Her palms were sweating and her pulse began to pick up speed. "I-I was, but I got out, and this captain took me outside – out of Central to the officer housing somewhere and I don't-I don't know exactly where that is."

"Okay, it's okay," Hope said in a soothing tone. "We just need information about R & D because of a recovery mission going on right now. I can't tell you how good it is to hear that you escaped, and I wish that was all there was to this. But we're pretty sure Light and Snow are stuck inside the same department you were in, so there's a team trying to find them, too. I'm really sorry – you definitely don't sound _fine_, but can you remember hearing anything about where other l'Cie might've been locked up, or do you know anything about the layout in there?"

Serah's lower lip quivered. "You mean they're in-inside that place?" she asked tremulously, praying for once that neither Snow nor Lightning had awakened from crystalstasis.

"Yes," Hope replied, though he sounded uncomfortable about the admission. "But not for long, if we can get to them."

Swallowing nervously, Serah searched the blur of images and information in her mind, grasping for the handful of useful details. After a short pause, she said quietly, "I didn't hear anything about other l'Cie, but I know-I know something…"

_03491._

"The outer set o-of doors," she pressed on, her throat trying to close up, "has a-a keycode."

_Miles wanted me to know it. It was all I could hold onto in that place._

"I saw it – I saw it and I'm sure it was zero-three-f-four-nine-one. Zero-three-four-nine-one, okay? But the next door… I'm not sure how they can get through."

Hope spoke up anxiously, "The keycode is 03491 for the outer doors? Then I've gotta call Maqui and let him know. I'm sure the team can figure out what to do from there."

_Maqui? What kind of mission is this that it required a mechanic? And what's going to greet them inside there?_

Serah felt conflicted about telling him the number, and about her own intense desire for the team to find her family despite the alarming danger they could face. Desperately, she tried to warn, "Hope, I need you to-to _please_ tell Maqui to be careful. It's awful in there – the whole place is glowing a-and confusing and I don't even remember how I got to room forty-nine, so I just can't-can't explain…"

"Serah," he responded reassuringly, "listen, everything's going to be fine. Our team is going to find Light and Snow so they can bring them home. And I _will_ come to get you. I don't know what happened to you, but I swear I'm coming. Is that captain friend of yours trustworthy enough for us to work with him? Because I think you need to take it easy now, okay?"

She drew in another shaky breath, surprised when her eyes blurred with tears of relief. "Yes – yes, I think he is."

"Good, I trust your word on that," Hope confirmed. "Just have him wait for a call back in half an hour, alright? I promise we'll take care of everything, Sis. I miss you, and I'm sorry-I'm so sorry about all of this mess."

"Don't be sorry," Serah replied sadly, feeling the weight of his guilt. "I'll pass the communicator to the captain. And-and I miss you too, Hope."

She heard him laugh half-heartedly on the other end of the line. "Roger that. Over and out, for now." His voice cut off, leaving only a brief burst of static before it faded as well.

_I just want this to be over for good, Hope. I want to be home._

Serah stared down at the communicator resting loosely in her upturned hands, willing it to beep again. Thankfully, she didn't have to wait alone in silence for long. The captain seemed to have taken notice when she stopped talking, and he reentered the room cautiously.

"Serah," he called to her from near the door, "did he mention how they planned to pick you up?"

Continuing to stare down at the communicator, she said blankly, "Someone's going to call back to talk to you in half an hour. He said they'd work it out that way."

"Hmm, should speed things along. I'm sure you're more than ready to get back to your family." Miles walked over and sat on the edge of the bed again. He bent over to rest his elbows on his thighs and stared across the room in quiet contemplation for a minute or two before saying anything further.

Serah looked up when he turned his gaze toward her again.

"Serah, you don't intend to tell them what happened in there, do you?" he said in a flat tone, not really asking so much as wanting to confirm the truth.

She shook her head heavily. "No. Maybe something basic, but… they don't need to know too much."

Nodding in understanding, the captain asked carefully, "And how much do _I_ get to know?"

The reasons he needed to know held sway – Serah couldn't easily dismiss them. Her chest clenched with a painful resolve when she considered how the account of her experience could lead to a change in the way PSICOM's Research and Development was run, and more importantly, how other people would potentially be spared from the terror she had known as a result.

Serah felt it was her duty to those people. And after what she had done to one of the staff doctors, she felt an explanation was required of her. Not that any amount of reasoning could keep her heart from slamming against her ribcage or her hands from shaking again. She took a deep breath to prepare herself.

_It's just an account – my account of the facts. What happened is over, and if I don't want anyone else getting hurt, this is my one shot to make a difference._

"Miles, I… I think you're going to need a notepad."

* * *

"You mean she isn't even _here_?!" Maqui shouted over the airwaves, rattling Hope's brain with the sheer volume.

His eyes scrunched up in pain and he shook his head, trying to recover. "Ow… Yeah, she's over in officer housing – it sounds weird, but she's actually safe there. Baralai and Sazh are already working out a rendezvous point with the captain helping her, so that means you guys just have to find Snow and Light now."

Maqui muttered, "Heh, like _that's_ simple. This whole situation's been taking one twist after another since this morning. First thing, I was wrapping up the final systems check when this alarm went off…"

It took an additional ten minutes for Maqui to finish his rant and for Hope to cut through the negativity blasting over channel four in order to convey the information Serah had passed on. They hit another speed-bump in the conversation when issues arose from her vague warnings and the five-digit keycode. Soon, what began as a mild disagreement continued to play over like a broken record and wear on Hope's already fraying patience.

"Look, Maqui, I _said_ I don't really know," Hope growled over the communicator, trying to explain for the umpteenth time. "Serah said it was a keycode for the outside doors to R & D, but there's no way she could_ possibly_ know if it applied to all the entrances. And if Light or Snow were _inside_ room forty-nine, she would have _told_ me, so that's probably a dead end unless they happen to be in a room close to it."

Static crackled over the line as Maqui huffed in frustration. "I _get_ that. But this place is a mad house – creepy guys in black lab coats are swarming everywhere in here. They've been pouring into the hangar all freakin' day, wandering around in the shadows. And they won't talk to anyone about why they're leaving the main building. Something's just… fishy about it. Even the PSICOM guys standing guard are acting kinda jumpy."

"So what are you going to do? If that many of them are coming out, there couldn't be a lot of personnel still inside to get in your way, right?" Hope reasoned, rubbing his thumb and forefinger between his eyebrows to try and quell the imminent tension headache.

_I really can't be losing momentum, not when we're this close. Not when we've all been killing ourselves for two weeks to make this happen._

Maqui sounded equally frazzled. "I'm not always a mastermind on demand, Hope," he snapped. "Just gimme a minute to think."

"Roger that. I'll stay on the line," Hope said tiredly.

After a few minutes of dragging silence, Maqui's voice burst through the white noise with startling enthusiasm. "Bingo! I can see a gaggle of the lab rats off in a corner behind some crates, nice and hidden from the guards. I'm gonna go talk to Lucil – they may be our ticket in."

"Sounds promising, but you guys had better give me an update ASAP, okay?" Hope insisted, more worried than he was irascible for the moment. "And Serah says to be careful."

"Yeah, sure. Updates will be uh… forthcoming I guess, but don't spaz if it takes an hour or so. Standby for channel four, like usual. Over and out."

The connection went dead. Hope slouched against the back of the folding chair in which he sat, processing the day's worth of information and stress. It was getting darker outside the dusty window of Lieutenant Baralai's office in the number three warehouse, known primarily as the communications hub. With his thoughts still racing along a mission-oriented track, the fading daylight meant only two things to Hope.

For one, it meant that Maqui and the extraction team would stand their best chance of completing the operation within the next eight hours. Additionally, it meant the lieutenant would be coming by before long with a report on Serah's recovery arrangements.

Hope felt himself being torn down the middle between the two responsibilities he was juggling. He wanted terribly to go with Baralai's team and rendezvous with Serah, but he also needed to play the point of contact for Maqui and Lucil's team as they tried to liberate Lightning and Snow. They were dependent on any information Hope could pass on from Yuj, who continued to carry out Maqui's newest tasks inside the hub's back room, listening to PSICOM's conversations about patrol schedules and searching the airwaves for any pertinent information.

Their combined support roles had been crucial for guiding the extraction team's movement. Just before the team's arrival at Central, Yuj had overheard that the west gate's metal detector had malfunctioned, allowing concealed, non-work-related equipment like communicators to pass through undetected. A tip of that nature was also the reason the team's departure flight was tentatively scheduled for 2345 that night, to coincide with a rather lazy shift turnover between sleep-deprived sentries.

The more the minutes ticked by as Hope's brain whirred with information, the more acutely aware he became that either Serah or the mission would suffer from his decision.

_But I promised… I promised Serah I would go and get her. And she's already been through so much for me. I can't possibly let her down._

Still, Hope had practically no one to cover his middle-man post if he left. Sazh had already taken over discussions with the PSICOM captain in his place after their initial conversation, and the pilot was busy dealing with Baralai to make the rendezvous arrangements. Even if Sazh hadn't done so, and was somehow available, there was no way he could be expected to cover the position for communications. It had taken two days for Hope himself to adjust to the channel tones and successfully multitask the incoming calls. That meant his single chance for backup rested with Yuj, the only other person with experience using the headset. And that was _if_ he could spare the time to switch tasks for a few hours.

_A few hours. That's all we have to get Light and Snow out of the building, and to get Serah outside housing within the compound before they put the whole zone on alert. There's no way there won't be some kind of lockdown once the transport blasts out of their hangar._

"Ugh, I _hate_ logistics!" Hope exclaimed, standing abruptly to pace the room. His tailbone had gone numb from sitting too long, and his back and legs continued to ache. He was on his third lap around the tiny space, hands in his pockets while he grumbled under his breath, when Yuj's blue head popped in from the slightly open door to the back room.

"Everything alright in here?" he asked, smirking at the powerful frustration that saturated the air around Hope. Stepping into the room, Yuj stretched his long limbs and yawned. "My ears were _already_ burning before you decided to 'vent your stress to the void' or whatever. Anyway, I'm going for coffee. Want some?"

Hope's head snapped up from where he had fixed a glare at the door handle. "What?"

"Cof-fee," Yuj articulated. "Do you want any?"

"I… maybe, but first I needed to ask you a favor." Hope took a deep breath, shuffling his feet uncomfortably where he stood. He detested passing on his own responsibilities to someone else. It was a far too frequent occurrence in his life.

Yuj just gave a mock bow. "At your service, really. Today's transmissions have been putting me to sleep – basic calls, patrols reporting in. And you _know_ something's wrong when the static starts to sound like a lullaby. I could use a break."

_Oh good…_

"Sorry, that sucks," Hope replied, offering a sympathetic half-smile and trying not to look as relieved as he felt. "So… you wouldn't mind manning the headset for a few hours when I go out with Baralai's recovery team, then? I mean, it's still pretty boring sometimes, but you'd get to hear all about the mission from Maqui's side."

Yuj brought a hand to his chin, staring into space in apparent deep consideration, but in the end he just laughed and said easily, "Consider it done. _ After_ I get my coffee, though." He crossed the small room in a few determined strides, freezing in his tracks at the door. He glanced back over his shoulder and shot Hope an almost accusatory look.

"Which reminds me – yea or nay on the coffee? You look about ready to keel over."

"No, that's okay," Hope said reluctantly, as Serah's usual spiel about caffeine still echoed in the back of his mind. "But thanks."

"Fine," Yuj sighed, muttering under his breath as he left, "And the surrogate mother strikes again."

_Maybe so, but I want Serah back more than anything. She can mother me and order me around and forbid the coffee all she wants from here on out._

The hot air of frustration blew out from his lungs when Hope exhaled. He would keep his promise to Serah, and the mission would carry on with a point of contact. Yuj had said he was available, and that was that. While the narrow margin of error in his logic nagged at the back of his mind – the potential that something important could be missed from PSICOM's communications – Hope was willing to let it go in favor of pushing forward. He felt Serah's necklace poking his left hand where it was still stuffed into his pocket, a sharp reminder of everything he could have lost, and his chest swelled with reassurance.

_This has to be the right decision._

* * *

When all was said and done, Miles sat staring at the pages of scribbled notes in his hands, his gaze unwavering. Serah watched the way his mouth had drawn into a tight line, and the unconscious rigidity that had slowly pulled his posture to strict attention. It communicated a very familiar indignation to her.

She hadn't seen that look since the day she had told Lightning about dating Snow; coming from the soldier so commonly given to silent, mounting rage, it had not been an entirely surprising reaction. The captain, however, seemed generally calm and gregarious. Seeing _him _react like Lightning probably meant that the fury he was stifling ran to the core.

Serah was sitting next to an ominous storm of a man.

_Surely he's not-I don't think he's angry with me, even though I-I murdered that doctor. What if he was invaluable to their research for a virus vaccine, or some other project?_

"I'm sorry," Serah said, her weak voice barely above a whisper. She wanted to sink into the bed and disappear. "I know that doctor was probably important to the department—"

The captain interjected before she could finish the thought. "_No_. You owe _no_ one an apology," he said darkly, but when Serah instinctively flinched and drew her knees close at his tone, he caught the movement and snapped out of his frightening state.

"I know this doesn't… sit well with you, even if I tell you that your actions were justified," Miles reasoned, his stormy eyes softening, "but they were. Believe me, they were. If things had been allowed to go on like this, with all of R & D's activities locked away from the eyes of PSICOM's authorities, nothing would have stopped them from continuing to run these-these _experiments_ on people." His face twisted with disgust for a brief moment, and he took a sharp breath through his nose to calm himself again.

Serah acknowledged his conclusion with a defeated nod. She had neither strength nor reason to argue anymore. All she felt was drained dry.

Standing to his feet, the captain closed the accursed notebook and smiled ruefully toward her frail form huddled up against the headboard, tangled hair still half-concealing her face.

"Serah, it's really over now," he pressed, stepping closer to carefully lift the communicator from the bedside table. When Miles turned to look at her then, Serah could see he wasn't convinced that she trusted his word. Doubt was painted on his every feature.

_He knows too much. And everyone else will think I'm lost or damaged or suicidal if they ever find out the same. It's just that…_ haunted_ look. Every teacher in school gave me that look when mom died. I hated it._

But Miles did something then that Serah did not expect. He reached into another of his numerous hidden pockets and pulled out a plastic bag with a white label stuck on the front, opened it, and extracted a small square of folded cloth. When he held it out to her, she recognised the dingy turquoise color with its faded pattern under the dirt ingrained in the fabric.

_I can't believe they didn't destroy it. The one thing Hope can't ever outgrow._

Serah wrapped her fingers around the bandanna and held it protectively to her chest.

"This old thing seemed awfully out of place in the evidence locker, if you ask me," the captain remarked, cracking a smile. He placed a hand lightly on her head as if she were a child. "Now rest up while I go and handle these arrangements. Your friends will be calling me back any minute now, I'm sure."

"Thank you," Serah choked out, her voice breaking as a few tears escaped from sheer relief. "Thank you. F-for _everything_."

Miles just patted the top of her head and turned to leave. "It's my duty, Serah," was all he said as he strode away and stepped out the door.

Alone again in the room, Serah nevertheless felt shrouded in peace. She slid down under the covers and curled into a ball around the worn bandanna, falling into a quiet sleep.

The token of reassurance in her hands was more than enough.

* * *

A status report from Maqui's team came much sooner than Hope had anticipated. He had been busy enough during the first part of his wait for an update, confirming his decision with Lieutenant Baralai to join their recovery team at 2100 sharp, and then taking a couple of calls from the scouts associated with that operation.

But after that, another lull in activity had set in. Hope had been dozing off and on for half an hour, barely able to keep his eyes open, when channel four beeped insistently in his ears and caught him completely off guard. He jolted to life and fell out of the chair, sprawling on the floor with his hands cupped protectively around the earpieces.

Hope felt his way to the correct button, trying to ignore the pain in his elbow and hip from impact and not even bothering to get up. "L-loud and clear, please… identity... I-I mean identify."

"Wake up! And flip the damn switch!" Lucil whispered harshly. Hope groaned where he lay on his back, flipping on the silencer before finally pushing himself up into a sitting position.

_Maybe I should've taken Yuj up on that coffee offer._

He mumbled back, "Got it. Any particular reason you've busted my eardrum?"

"Hey, you're the one who begged for a status report, narco-boy!" The corporal's humor was off – her tone actually sounded edgy.

"Right, so fire away," Hope said quickly, becoming gradually more alert.

"Hang on a sec." There were sounds of shuffling, a high-pitched beep, and a loud click in the background as Lucil moved around with her hand still pressed on the PTT button.

"Safe," she breathed. "Listen, I'm in room forty-two right now. We jumped some unsuspecting donors in lab coats a while ago, and we were able to get through both sets of the doors to R & D with their clothes, that keycode, and a whole lot o' luck. Seems every one of them had an access keycard, so we've split up to search the rooms."

Hope was suddenly wide-awake, his pulse hammering in his ears. "That's amazing! Did you find them yet?"

"Working on it. I think we're getting close – at least we'd better be. We're running out of rooms. But I've found something else interesting."

Lucil hesitated, and her voice was oddly guarded when she continued to elaborate, "I know why there was a mass exodus out of here. A couple of guards have been investigating a roped-off room at the end of the hall, and I ran down to check it out when they went for a break earlier. From the… evidence I could see, this whole department was in the middle of a serious emergency evacuation."

_A serious incident on the same hall as room forty-two? This can't be a coincidence._

"Let me get this straight," Hope prodded warily. His gut clenched with a fearful premonition as the gears clicked in his head, but he simply had to know. "Something happened in _one_ room, in the _vicinity_ of room forty-two, that was serious enough to call for a department-wide evacuation during the same time frame that Serah got out of the building. Is that correct?"

Silence. The corporal eventually sighed, "Yeah, I guess that's right."

"It was room forty-nine, wasn't it?"

Lucil replied hesitantly, "I didn't actually see the number, because the door was open the whole time, but… Yeah. It was across from room forty-eight."

Swallowing anxiously, Hope finally asked the question that was burning in his throat. "What-what did you see in there?"

"Hope, I'm not going into it. Not now," Lucil replied sternly. "I'm gonna wait until those guards move again – that or move them _myself_ – so I can check the last few doors on the hall, and that's all there is to be done. Understood?"

The not knowing gnawed at Hope's insides, but he did understand, given the time constraints for the mission and his own fast-approaching departure to meet Serah. He took a deep breath and answered, "Understood. Yuj will be covering as net host for a few hours while we rendezvous with Serah, so be sure to let him know about the situation. And good luck."

"Thanks, we're gonna need it. Over and out," Lucil replied.

Hope had just switched off the silencer when Sazh burst into the room, wound tighter than the knot slowly constricting Hope's stomach.

"Time to head out, Hope!" he called, his dark eyes boring into the dazed boy on the floor. Sazh didn't miss a beat as he tossed a pair of boots and a pile of clothing onto the chair, reaching down his freed hands to help Hope to his feet.

"Now put those on. The lieutenant's waitin' outside, and we don't exactly have a whole lot o' time."

Hope removed the headset and examined the earth-tone colored articles on the chair – all the components of a male-type Guardian Corps uniform.

_This just seems… weirdly ironic. And I'm going to look ridiculous._

Doubts notwithstanding, Hope decided to go for humor over humiliation. "So whose bright idea was this?" he said with a nervous laugh, removing his boots and peeling off the coveralls to replace them with the trousers, shirt, vest, gloves, shoulder guard, and boots of the uniform. He shifted uncomfortably in the close-fitting clothes – granted, slightly looser than they were intended – while he struggled with the multitude of buckles. It seemed to take an eternity to fasten them all.

"Think it might've been Gippal's idea," Sazh replied, smiling in fatherly approval as he picked up the uniform cover and settled it over Hope's unruly hair. "And it was a good one, if I do say so myself. Just look at you!"

There weren't any reflective surfaces in the room, so Hope shrugged and looked down at himself in the uniform. He pulled at the small handful of slack in the shirt with exaggerated disapproval.

"Got a long way to go," he muttered, but he was honestly surprised at how very close he'd come to fitting into the uniform properly. "I feel bad for the guy who actually wears this size."

Sazh just laughed and shook his head, slinging an arm around Hope's shoulders to usher him toward the office door as he remarked, "That's enough griping out o' you, little man."

They both heard Yuj chuckling as he stepped into the office behind them to take up his post on the headset. Hope turned toward the sound intending to thank him again, only to be greeted by a bright flash of light.

"Score!" Yuj exclaimed, grinning in smug satisfaction as he slipped a thin camera back into his pocket. "Another wonderful memory preserved for my family blackmail collection. You really should've seen the look on your face!"

"You're—_ugh_, you're worse than Maqui! If I wasn't leaving _right this second_, I swear—" Hope growled, but Sazh was already dragging him out the door, flailing lanky limbs and all.

"Give Serah a hug for me!" Yuj called after them.

Just like that, Hope's swirling emotions dissolved into nothing. He wasn't thinking about that moment of embarrassment caught on film, or feeling how his body and mind still ached with exhaustion, or even dwelling on the unknowns of what had happened in room forty-nine. He was left with only a single point of focus from the time he departed the warehouse with the recovery team, all through the winding velocycle ride to the commercial district.

They were bringing Serah home.


	12. Behind you

**A/N: Well it's been a long time coming, but honestly, with the craziness of life and utter lack of reviews, I wasn't exactly rushing to get the next chapter posted. I blame the start of school :P Whatever it was, I certainly hope this chapter goes over better – please do review and let me know! Just a couple of notes before we get started:**

***The new OC is not based on anyone in particular, nor essential to the story, so never fear an OC Invasion or self-insertion or anything of the like.**

***Cover (noun) – military terminology for a hat/cap.**

Behind you

"Elma, are you sure it's such a good idea to be out in the open like this?" Serah asked nervously, sticking close to her escort as they wove along the main street of the crowded commercial district. Even in a full PSICOM uniform with her telling pink hair braided back and wrapped like a leather whip, Serah felt exposed in the throng of people laughing and wandering from bar to bar, civilians and military members alike all socializing on a typical Friday night. It was the first time she had seen the place lit up like a festival.

The specialist laughed and quickly pulled Serah out of the path of one stumbling sentry who had apparently lost his helmet. He gave Serah a goofy grin and tried to say something before he suddenly tripped over his own feet and slammed into the back of a buddy in front of him. As the two men started arguing, Elma led her farther from the scene.

"Oh yeah, since these guys are _such_ a threat," Elma remarked, shooting her a conspiratorial wink. "Just try not to look so adorable and they won't give you any trouble."

_Sure, I'll just do that. It's not like I can control the fact that this uniform shows off my whole right leg, or the fact that these guys are so out of it they're probably attracted to anything that moves._

Serah opted to change the subject. Her own tiredness and the intimidating mass of people all around were multiplying her usual nerves, but at least talking was a distraction – it was better than jumping anxiously at every glance in their direction.

"So-so where is this tavern we're headed to? I'm not too familiar with— Aah!"

Suddenly speeding up, Elma pulled her behind a small group of other female sentries upon sighting an actual patroller outside one of the establishments. She relaxed as they blended with the girls and followed them past the patroller's line of sight, finally answering Serah.

"It's about halfway down the main strip. The captain's probably going to get there ahead of us – drunk or otherwise, people tend to make way for officers."

Serah nodded and continued to struggle along in the uncomfortable uniform boots. Still weak even after rest and some proper food, she saved her breath for keeping up with the hurried specialist. Their destination was a joint service military tavern – the only one in the settlement not exclusive to a single service branch – where Lebreau had taken over management on weekends for the past year. Despite being an ideal rendezvous point, the setting in and of itself presented a number of challenges that Serah felt unprepared to face. Naturally, there was no predicting which members from either the Guardian Corps or PSICOM would be dropping in that night, though it was generally safe to assume that anyone comfortable in the mixed atmosphere wouldn't be interested in quarreling over their differences. Not unless they went there looking for a fight.

That variable presented the second biggest potential threat, next to someone who wasn't in on the covert operation identifying Serah or Hope. Miles had assured her that Lieutenant Baralai's scouts were doing everything possible to pass the word among essential members of the Corps, but there was always the chance that someone would be missed, and PSICOM members had been kept in the dark altogether. To that end, their disguises would have to hold up.

_Plus, I have to find Hope in there. Not sure I'll even recognise him in uniform._

"Looks like we've arrived!" Elma exclaimed, as they came to a halt a block away from a bright yellow sign with blue lettering that spelled out _The Weeping Wyvern._

Hearing the rowdy sounds issuing out to the street from inside the building, Serah began to lose all confidence in her ability to blend, but she tried to focus on her objectives: get inside, find Hope, avoid suspicious behavior, and get out the back door with him on cue. She wished it could have been a simple meeting on the street, but PSICOM's duty patrols were a constant threat anywhere out of doors, even in the midst of dense crowds. In contrast, nothing would seem strange at all about a number of escorts and young soldiers from both services wandering into an advertised social event for first-year recruits. Serah was almost certain Lebreau had been instrumental in making that happen.

All those thoughts drifted through her mind as they waited in the long line for identification checks at the tavern entrance. Upon reaching the bouncer, Elma presented her military ID with a flirty smile as she said coolly, "I'm escorting this new recruit for the social." She immediately ushered Serah forward to present her own ID.

It took several seconds for Serah to rifle around in her pockets and produce the card – a very convincing false ID with a false name that identified her as a private. Her hand shook slightly and she almost dropped it. Thankfully, the sentry seemed to interpret her nerves as social anxiety. And that wasn't altogether untrue.

"Straight out of Basic, huh?" he laughed, taking a quick glance at the card before waving it away. "Relax – half the guys in there are in the same boat. No one's gonna make you drop and give them fifty, trust me." He flashed a grin at Serah, likely a misguided attempt to be charming, and opened the door for them.

Serah and Elma had just removed their helmets when they both bumped into bodies not three feet inside the entrance. The large tavern was absolutely packed with soldiers sitting at high-top tables or standing around in groups, and the space felt stuffy despite cold air blasting down from vents across the ceiling. In the dim, bluish lighting, it seemed an impossible feat to see who everyone was, but Elma had the look of a woman confidently set on her mission.

"Let's go!" she practically shouted at Serah as she pulled her past numerous chatting and laughing soldiers until they reached the very back of the room, which was impossibly even livelier. Many more people in all varieties of enlisted and officer uniforms had gathered around a long counter that was almost blocked from view. Elma gestured at them and explained, "The bar is right in front of where everyone's ordering. You need to ask Lebreau for a Wild Card and stick around in this area, okay?"

Serah froze, looking at her escort in wide-eyed panic. "What on Pulse is a Wild Card? And where are _you_ going?"

_Don't leave me with all these strangers!_

Elma's eyebrows scrunched up apologetically as she explained, "I have to check in with the captain in the officers' corner before I get into position. You'll be fine on your own. Just smile and move along until you get the cue to head out." She patted Serah's shoulder and turned to leave, but stopped mid-turn as she remembered something.

"Oh, and a Wild Card is just a drink. It's virgin, but trust me – you'll need it." With that, the specialist began weaving away through the bodies to cross the room.

_Right. I just have to wait here with some weird drink, looking for Hope like a lost puppy, until Elma gets into a staged fight to make a huge distraction. Forgive me for not feeling a hundred percent on this._

In spite of how friendly and lighthearted everyone around her was acting, Serah was almost petrified with fear. She had never felt so claustrophobic in her life, and she might never have moved from the spot had it not been for one slender boy in a Guardian Corps uniform. She was so preoccupied that she didn't even see him directly in front of her, turning from the bar with a green drink in his hands that literally glowed.

Not until he bumped into her and sloshed his drink all over the front of her uniform. Serah gasped automatically at the cold seeping through her clothes – it shocked her out of paralysis.

"Thank you," she said without thinking as she stared at the luminescent stain, and then looked up at a pair of eyes that almost matched the spilled drink. Her jaw hit the floor.

_I can't act like I know him. He's a total stranger to me – a total stranger. I shouldn't even know his name._

"You-you're… welcome?" Hope stuttered, totally bowled over. His entire face lit up in surprise and joy and heart-breaking relief. He blinked his misty eyes and tried to cover it all as he fumbled, "I-I mean I'm sorry, I didn't see you…"

Hope wasn't the best liar to begin with, and he was obviously struggling to keep composure, so Serah knew she would have to cover. She cursed her own pounding heart and shoved down the impulse to hug him, sticking out her hand instead. Awkwardly, he followed suit and shook it.

"I'm Elida," she said as evenly as she could manage. "Buy me a drink?"

* * *

Hope had no idea what to expect when Lieutenant Baralai pulled his velocycle up to the edge of the commercial district's bustling main strip. Hopping off the back of the vehicle, he stared at the rows of colorful, gleaming lights and signs that dispelled the deep blackness of a cloudy night. He would never have guessed such crowds brought business to the area after dark, though he did have a vague idea of why. Lebreau had frequently mentioned moonlighting as a tavern manager there, and from the way she talked, business was good.

"Corporal Maroda," the lieutenant said suddenly in his quiet but commanding way, addressing Hope's intimidating escort for the evening, "you are not to let this recruit out of your sight until his proper departure. _The Weeping Wyvern_ is your destination, and nowhere else. Am I clear?"

Nodding sternly, the corporal on the velo next to them merely replied, "Yes, Sir," before veering his vehicle into a designated parking port along the street as if it were feather-light. Lieutenant Baralai then looked to Hope, his expression unreadable as always.

"Are you sure you can handle this? We could always have you wait elsewhere, and send one of the scouts to the rendezvous point instead. It's not too late."

Hope breathed heavily through his nose as he considered the logic in that offer, but he simply couldn't back down. "I've got this, Sir," he replied with forced determination, refusing to consider the possible ways that things could go wrong. "She'll be looking for_ me_, not some soldier she doesn't even know. I think she deserves that much."

The lieutenant actually seemed pleased with that answer. For the first time since Hope had met the man, he smiled ever so slightly.

"Yes, she does. Don't forget your objectives, and I expect a report of your arrival at the number six warehouse before 0100 hours," Baralai instructed. "You are dismissed."

Hope saluted as he had briefly been taught, and the lieutenant saluted back smartly before mounting his velo and speeding away. Corporal Maroda was at Hope's flank immediately. The dark man jerked a thumb in the direction of the massive crowd, but said nothing further as he walked ahead at a brisk pace. It gave Hope the uneasy sensation of chasing a shadow.

_Not that I haven't followed faster leaders. Still, it's a good thing I don't have to rely on this guy for conversation when we arrive._

They made excellent time getting to the tavern, what with the corporal's serious presence parting the sea of people. Before Hope knew it, he had already completed two of his objectives: he was inside the building, and he was blending in with the other soldiers. Maroda had long since struck out into the room in search of more mature company and strategic positioning, but Hope was pleasantly surprised to find that he fit right in with the youthful crowd, and that the low lighting and blue cast to the room skewed his own features to his advantage. He had wandered around for less than a minute when a strange girl with long, pale hair, also in a Guardian Corps uniform, not-so-accidentally bumped into him from behind.

"Sorry about that," she covered smoothly, once he turned to face the offender with a raised eyebrow. She simply tucked her hair behind her ear and batted dark, shining eyes at him.

"I don't think I've met _you_ before, and I would definitely remember if I had."

Even acknowledging that it was open flattery, Hope thought the girl seemed innocent enough, and he couldn't deny that he liked the attention. He muttered nervously, "Big command, I guess. But I am pretty new."

Surprisingly, the girl laughed in his face. "Wellthat much is _obvious_. I'll bet you got in on a waiver, huh?"

"Waiver? What are you talking about?" Hope asked, afraid to look rude by simply cutting off the conversation but irritated at her sudden attitude.

Shaking her head in disbelief, she lowered her voice and deliberately stepped closer to his ear to explain, "Look, there's no _way_ you're older than seventeen, and that requires a waiver to enlist. It's not a big deal – my dad signed my waiver last year. I bet yours did the same for you."

"My dad's gone," Hope replied in a deadpan tone, certain that his approach would shock the prying girl into backing off.

_It's technically true, anyway._

For the most part, his words hit the mark – the poor girl was struck speechless. Her next remark, however presumptuous it might have been, stuck in her throat as she took a hasty step backward. A full five seconds passed before she could reply.

"I— Wow, I'm really sorry," she stammered, fiddling with the cover in her hands and floundering to the point that Hope began to regret his harshness. It didn't help matters that she had worked her pretty mouth into a masterful pout. He tried to fix the situation with a shrug and a half-smile, and that seemed to do the trick.

Finding her voice again, the girl offered shyly, "Wanna go umm… get a drink, maybe? I'm Rhem, by the way."

"Sure," Hope replied, inwardly sighing at his inability to shut her down and move along. "Just don't laugh if I order virgin."

Unfortunately, that seemed to have been a little too encouraging. Rhem covered her mouth and giggled before she finally settled down and said, "Okay, okay I won't. Let's go."

Further aggravating Hope, she invaded his bubble again, grabbed his arm and dragged him along through the crowded room. She was stronger than he would have guessed from her willowy form.

_Well, at least I won't have to go looking for the bar on my own._

"Oh – I completely forgot to ask. What's your name?" Rhem asked immediately upon reaching their destination, as they waited behind a mass of gathered soldiers in front of the counter.

Hope didn't look at her when he gave his flat response, knowing he would possibly be caught in a lie if she saw his expression. "It's Kai."

Giggling again, she remarked, "You don't_ look_ like a Kai."

_Huh, that was almost insightful. Maybe I was a little too quick to judge._

"Sorry to disappoint," he remarked, taking a step closer to the counter as someone in front moved out of position with a drink in his hands. Hope sensed that Rhem was staring at him and tried to ignore the fact, but it was making him uncomfortable. He finally gave up and turned to face her.

"Look, maybe I don't trust people at some random social event with my identity. It's nothing personal."

Grinning wryly, she crossed her arms and inquired, "And how do you know I didn't give you a fake name, too?"

Hope shrugged. "Just because _I'm _a bad liar doesn't mean I don't know a lie when I hear one. You weren't lying, plain and simple." She seemed further intrigued by his answer, and gave him an frighteningly disarming smile as she moved within inches of his face, reaching up to remove the cover from his wild silver hair.

Amidst a flood of incoherent thoughts, and against his better judgment, Hope nervously tacked on, "A-and besides, you do look like a Rhem."

"Thanks," Rhem replied, placing the cover in his hands and hovering too near his body for his liking. "Much easier to see your face without that shadow over it. Besides, you're not supposed to wear this inside."

He did _not _need to be in range of smelling the sun-warmed strawberry scent of her shampoo. Even if he was gratified that she actually had to look up at him.

_Curse you girls and your stupid… girly… ugh!_

Hope was certain he would've been immobilized for an indefinite period of time if it hadn't been for the bartender calling out in his direction, "Hey, you! You're up – better move it before someone takes your spot!"

Snapping his head toward the voice and away from Rhem, he squeezed between a couple of other soldiers to approach the counter while he muddled through his thoughts for what he had been told to order.

"What'll it be, cutie?" the bartender asked casually, her arms flying to fill and hand off multiple other glasses to customers at the bar. It was all Hope could do to not laugh out loud at the dark-haired woman's lack of awareness.

He still remarked, "Soyou think I'm cute, do you Lebreau? Pretty sure I'm not your type."

At that, she froze and looked up, stammering in embarrassment, "O-oh, didn't recognise you at all. What's with the haircut?"

"Gippal's regulations and Yuj's sense of style," Hope answered, relishing the fact that he had caught the usually smug woman off-guard. He propped his elbows on the counter and rested his chin in his hands.

"And I'll have a Wild Card, please."

"Right, I should've known that," Lebreau said absently, more to herself than to him, as she snapped back to her work.

When Hope leaned away from the counter, still smirking at his little moment of triumph, he turned to see Rhem at his shoulder. She looked a bit too amused for comfort.

Raising her pale eyebrow in curiosity, she probed, "So, you know the bartender? Don't tell me you lied about your age, too."

"Of course not," Hope answered matter-of-factly. "You assumed_ that_ on your own."

_And I'm through with this. Ordering that drink is a third objective down, so it's about time to look for Serah._

Again, Rhem didn't bother replying, but he couldn't read her expression as anything short of mischievous. She simply grinned and turned to the counter to order her own drink.

A moment later Lebreau called out, "Wild Card, order up!" and Hope took the glowing green drink from the counter. He hadn't expected it to be so flashy, but it made sense that a signal to draw Serah's attention in such a crowd would need to stand out.

_Should I even drink this? It's like a glowstick in a glass, and it'll probably turn my tongue green._

Hope dismissed the thought, as actually drinking the stuff wasn't essential to the plan, and turned to leave the bar area. Just as he was about to step away, he felt a hand brush rather deliberately against his backside and he jumped, startled and outraged at such forwardness.

"What the—" he said under his breath, turning abruptly to aim an accusatory glare at Rhem, but she seemed to be distracted with running her finger along the rim of her glass at the bar. At least until she curled one corner of her mouth into a smile, searching him with her dark eyes that held something in them that Hope had not seen before.

He was afraid to ask, so rather than stick around he hastily turned to leave the area and stay on target. As he tried to escape and focus his thoughts on the mission again, he lost sight of his own position in the crowd. He didn't even notice the person in front of him until he had collided with her, spilling his drink all over her uniform. The uniform of a PSICOM sentry, no less.

Oddly, he could've sworn he heard the victim of his clumsiness thank him after the spill. When she looked up, Hope found himself face to face with the wide blue eyes he had intended to seek out all along.

"You-you're… welcome?" he stammered, so beside himself with happiness that he almost tackled Serah in a hug right then and there. "I-I mean I'm sorry, I didn't see you…"

_C'mon, you idiot. Way to avoid suspicion. Introduce yourself, act like a stranger – just do something normal!_

Thankfully, Serah beat him to the punch. "I'm Elida," she said sweetly, offering her hand. Hope was lucky to regain the presence of mind to shake it. She further saved him as she suggested, "Buy me a drink?"

"Yes, o-of course," he stuttered, instinctively leading her by the hand back toward Lebreau at the counter. He did not relinquish his grip while flagging the bartender and exchanging his glass for another drink like the one he had spilled, its blue glow matching better with the room's lighting. Part of him feared that if he let Serah go again, someone might swoop in and drag her off.

Still in sight but mostly out of mind to Hope, Rhem narrowed her eyes pointedly toward him when he handed the drink to Serah.

"You could've just told me you didn't go for Corps girls, you know," she muttered, only loud enough for him to hear her as he turned. "We tend to be _clear_ about what we want."

_You couldn't be farther from the truth about my preferences – I just don't go for ass-grabbing. Maybe you'll learn some manners after this._

But Hope didn't feel he owed her an explanation; it wasn't as if he was required to show the propriety of a formal social event while in the middle of a bar, talking to a girl who didn't know the meaning of etiquette.

Hope decided to put an end to their interaction as he said plainly, "You didn't ask. And it's better not to assume other people want what you want." Rhem did not have a rebuttal for that, just a typical pout. She redirected her glare at nothing in particular and shut out his existence.

Staring down into her glass, Serah seemed very uneasy with the whole situation, so Hope simply led her as far from the fuming soldier and the bar area as he could without losing sight of the back door. It was in the farthest right corner of the room's back wall with a bright red exit sign over it, not too far away, but there was still one objective to go.

Their departure would not be secure until the carefully orchestrated distraction was in place. It was hard for Hope to picture his stick-in-the-mud escort Maroda as having a key part in the staged plot, but the corporal was focused if nothing else. The plan would also involve some of the PSICOM captain's people, and Hope had no idea where they were positioned throughout the room or how long they intended to wait before launching into action.

That left Hope with a somewhat skittish Serah, nowhere to sit down, and more time on his hands than he knew what to do with.

"Want me to test that first?" he asked, once they had landed a space against the wall. Leaning against a surface was better than nothing, and after he had gotten a better look, he could tell just how exhausted Serah really was. She was heavily dependent on the cinderblock structure at her back for support, and her glass didn't look too stable in her free hand.

Glancing over to him, she weakly lifted the drink. "You can have it. I'm already wearing yours."

Hope smiled at her joke and relieved her of the glass, but his chest tightened painfully when he saw the dark circles under her eyes – barely disguised by makeup – and the nervous, pleading look within them. She was on edge.

"What's wrong?" he asked in a low voice, squeezing her hand. "Is there someone after you right now?"

Serah shook her head. "No, I don't think so. But there are too many people here. Any one of them might recognise you and just-just turn around and take you away. We need to get out."

"You know we have to wait for the signal," Hope said reassuringly, "and that'll be any minute now. Outside is a lot more dangerous than in here, trust me. We have friends in here."

Squeezing his hand back, Serah looked a little more at ease from those words – though he would've been lying to himself if he thought she wasn't still burying a deeper layer of fear. They stood silently against the wall for another half-minute or so before Hope actually ventured to test the drink, which turned out to be raspberry flavored.

"Guess Lebreau knows your favorite," he remarked, handing it back to Serah. It seemed more appropriate to carry on a conversation, or at least less awkward. "Better try it out or you'll hurt her feelings. It's pretty good."

Serah took the drink back and tried a sip, smiling slightly. "Mmhm, it is. Did she guess your favorite too?"

"I don't know. It was the right color, but I didn't get to taste any – it's not like I can lick it off your uniform to find out."

_Wow, that sounded terrible. Unforgivably terrible. Cut-out-my-tongue terrible._

Somehow, miraculously, his stupidity had a positive effect. Serah gulped down her mouthful of the drink and doubled over in a fit of giggles.

"That… was just… awful!" she stammered, eventually straightening up to continue grinning widely with tear-filled eyes at his mortified, blushing face. "You really have a way with words, don't you?"

Hope covered his face with his hands. "It's a curse. Just kill me now, please?"

A couple of nearby PSICOM sentries seemed to have witnessed the fiasco between the Corps boy and one of their own, and they laughed about as hard as Serah had.

"What the hell's a dame like you doing with this goofy kid?" the beefier one among them asked at length. Hope did not approve of his address or the look he was giving Serah, and he couldn't help but narrow his eyes at the perpetrator. That was when he realised the sentry was more than just crass and annoying.

_Uh-oh, I remember this guy from the clinic after the transport crash. He's probably just someone's escort, but he'll find me out in a heartbeat if we don't move._

"C'mon, Elida. Let's go," Hope said darkly, squeezing Serah's hand before urging her along the wall and away from the sentries. He cursed his existence for having already endangered her life again after only being around her for fifteen short minutes, and cursed it harder when the three men followed them back toward the bar.

_No, I can't let them get to us. I'll flip out and punch the douche-bag and get myself beaten to a pulp, and then we'll both be trapped in here._

"Aw, don't take her away!" the crude sentry called after him, above the many heads between them, before he remarked rather loudly, "Little piss-ant's afraid I'm gonna steal his girlfriend."

Another bunch of nearby sentries laughed and egged on their comrade, and Hope really had no idea where to go or how to respond. He had already given up pulling Serah along in favor of guiding her ahead of him through the crowd, hoping she could duck behind the bar with Lebreau until the rest of the plan was set in motion for them to escape. They were running out of time and space to get away.

It was in those next, desperate moments that Hope finally gained an appreciation for his temporary escort. He couldn't be sure at the time if Corporal Maroda was improvising or acting according to plan, but it seemed that just when the group of offending sentries reached his heels as he led Serah toward the right end of the bar, a dark blur pushed past the bodies on Hope's left and a loud crack resounded directly behind him. Hope turned with wide eyes to see that the corporal had socked the burly sentry square in the jaw. The infuriated man spat blood on the floor from his busted lip, letting rip a string of curses before launching at Maroda.

From there, chaos ensued. Soldiers in the immediate vicinity shouted or cheered, and their excitement spread like fire across the room. Before long, the vast majority of the tavern's customers were more than willing to watch if not join in the fight. And since there were no weapons allowed in the building, what began as a two-man altercation quickly descended into an all-out brawl.

Hope continued to maneuver Serah this way and that, dodging a flood of people charging past them from the bar. He tried to get around and find access to the counter, but there were too many people in their path. Even after Serah planted her half-full glass on a table to their left to better help him push through, the two of them may as well have been swimming upstream in a raging current.

_We have to get to Lebreau, or at least somewhere out of the way!_

When random objects started flying across the room – and someone's helmet sailed in their direction from closer to the fray – Hope's hand was forced.

* * *

"Get down!" Hope called next to Serah's ear – not that she really had a choice. He instantly latched onto her from behind and pulled her down under the nearby table. She was pinned between him and the supporting pole, in no position to see what was going on, but she heard a loud thud as some object ricocheted off the table above their heads and knocked over her drink. A shower of blue liquid splattered the floor before the glass itself landed and smashed into pieces.

Twisting toward Hope's ear, Serah asked in a panic, "Was this part of the plan? Doesn't seem like a staged distraction to me!"

"Yes and no – I can't even tell!" he replied loudly. "I don't think it was supposed to get so out of—_Ow_!"

Serah was pressed against the pole immediately after Hope had cried out, as he squeezed farther under the table. "What happened?" she asked frantically.

"Some asshole kicked me!" he growled. "We really need to get to the exit, fast."

Glancing to his right, up and past the edge of the table, Hope fixed his gaze on a goal beyond her line of sight.

He said decisively, "On three, we're heading out, okay? I'm gonna stay behind you."

_And get yourself hit with a chair? I'll slow you down if I lead this._

"But what if I—"

"No buts," Hope cut in. "All you have to do is shield your head and keep moving, and if that doesn't work out, I'll _carry_ you out of here. Got it?"

_Not if you're unconscious._

Swallowing her doubts, Serah nodded and shifted her jellified legs into a crouch in preparation. There were no other options, and it was useless arguing with the stubborn boy.

"One," Hope said, placing a hand against her back. "Two…" He peeked out from under the table to assess a path toward the exit, beginning with one clear patch where the gleaming shards of glass lay scattered on the floor.

"Three!" Serah was hauled to her feet, narrowly clearing the edge of the table as they charged forward and dodged bodies to press through the soldiers still rushing toward the center of the fight. Some of them had even broken off and started duking out personal vendettas amongst themselves. Hope bumped into Serah a number of times, grunting in pain after the oblivious contenders all around smacked him with an elbow or other carelessly flying limb.

Once they had made some progress – and for the moment it didn't seem anyone was about to throw a punch in their direction – Serah risked a glance back around Hope's shoulder and saw that Elma was nearby. The specialist had climbed onto a table and leaped down to grapple the swinging arms of one Corps soldier in the fight. A mass of shouting defenders immediately targeted her, following her halfway across the room.

_Is she leading them away? I wonder if she saw us just now._

"There's the exit!" Hope shouted over the noise. Serah immediately snapped her head forward and fixed her eyes on the sign.

As soon as she reached the door, she pushed hard against the bar but was barely able to budge the weight of it. Hope's hands came around either side of her and shoved it wide, both of them stumbling out into the cold, empty alley. He continued to guide her at a fast walk beside the back wall of the building, but it wasn't long before Serah's legs were scarcely able to drag her along. Exhaustion was seriously beginning to take its toll. A few short steps later, she stumbled over an uneven spot on the ground and started to crumple. Hope reflexively caught her under the arms.

_So tired and thirsty… I should've finished off that drink._

Once she was stabilized on her feet, he shifted to walk beside her and support her on one arm. Keeping a slow pace, Hope asked worriedly, "Are you gonna make it?"

"Depends… on how far we've got to go," Serah replied, sounding breathless and raspy. Honestly, she wanted to collapse then and there, but given the events of the last twenty-four hours she remained driven to escape at all costs.

"Not far, I promise. The lieutenant's velocycle should be parked just around that corner." Hope pointed past the edge of a storage building situated behind the tavern, maybe ten meters away.

Serah nodded heavily. "Then I can definitely make it."

An ear-splitting rifle shot rang out from within the tavern, and Hope hurried her along the final stretch a bit faster as he remarked, "Good thing – that's Lebreau's signal to take off!"

Every last ounce of Serah's energy was sapped once her hands hit the seat of the velocycle. Hope had to lift her onto the vehicle, jumping on behind her rather than in front. She could tell by his actions and constant concerned expression that he didn't trust her to even be able to hold on to him during the ride.

"Do me a favor and grab those inner grips, okay?" Hope asked quickly, pulling out a key to crank the ignition and inching the velo along the narrow alleyway.

Serah grabbed onto the rubberized sections nearest the small dash and lowered her head below his view, adding a bit shakily, "I-I'm all set."

_I had better be._

"Hang on tight. This is going to be a_ really_ bumpy ride."

That turned out to be quite the understatement. The instant Hope cleared the edge of the alley, he cranked the velocycle into high gear and propelled them down the unpaved street, almost spinning out from the takeoff. Serah blinked her teary eyes at the wind and dust flying at her, the chill stinging her cheeks. She was relieved to be in no danger of flying off the back of the velo, though. The forces buffeting her scarcely resistant body could only push her back against Hope.

Each time they slowed down to approach sharp turns onto a number of unfamiliar crossing streets, Serah caught glimpses of blue solar lanterns hanging in highly visible locations. She noted the pattern and the conspicuous lack of patrollers, and she wondered what exactly was going on with Hope's side of the plan.

Unable to turn and ask him directly, she dared to point a single finger in the direction of the lanterns they passed without loosing her grip, hoping he might see the gesture. Her third attempt to communicate finally succeeded.

"So you noticed the lanterns," Hope said loudly, close to her right ear. "Baralai's scouts put them up to mark the least-patrolled trail out of the commercial district. And tonight, those few patrollers are all running to the tavern to stop that knock-down drag-out."

Serah nodded, acknowledging the lieutenant's ingenuity. Outside of congested areas like the commercial district, patrols would be more spread out, allowing them to transit the remaining distance to the warehouse district using the Guardian Corps' favored back-road that ran along the settlement's western edge. It was the only road where a PSICOM presence would be considered suspicious, or even intrusive. Guardian Corps personnel constantly utilized it with their few remaining vehicles, if only when conducting border control operations for the monsters nearby.

_Of course PSICOM would leave the most dangerous front to someone else. They seem to be more concerned about controlling people than monsters._

_Well, maybe not all of them,_ she thought, wondering again what consequences Miles and Elma might face on her behalf.

True to her predictions about the route, Hope picked his way to the edge of the commercial district, speeding across the main street to weave between the quiet storage buildings of the distribution sector toward the western border. It would take another fifteen minutes or more to reach the warehouse district going the back way, given the condition of that road, but Serah breathed a sigh of relief. She couldn't have cared less about potholes and ruts if it meant safety.

Serah's eyes drooped closed a few times along the way, but she was continuously jarred awake by nasty bumps or dips in the road. Finally nearing the end of their journey as the number one warehouse came into view, she fell into a blank sleep for a minute or so, not waking until she felt an arm wrap around her shoulders to pull her upright.

"Watch it," Hope leaned in to warn, releasing her to steer with both hands once she grabbed the grips again. "You almost faceplanted onto the dash."

Serah shook her head and focused on staying alert as best she could. As they pulled in to the rows of warehouses, Hope slowed down the velocycle and parked in front of the first-aid ward.

He didn't budge once he had cut the ignition, instead pulling out a communicator to make a quick call.

"This is Hope – yes, we made it to the ward. Could you pass that on to the lieutenant for me? What do you mean? Yes, you should still broadcast 'Blue', but he needs you to get in touch with him directly…" Hope explained, and Serah began to nod off again. The dash looked uncomfortable at best, so she just leaned back against him and felt the vibrations in his chest as he continued to talk on the communicator to some concerned party in the operation.

She was out in a matter of seconds.

* * *

"Serah? Hey, wake up." Hope gently shook her shoulder, but she did not stir.

_Not sure she could've walked into the first-aid ward on her own anyway._

Glancing around again just to make sure they hadn't been followed, he carefully dismounted while making sure to hold Serah upright. Hope then gathered both of her legs over his other arm and lifted her from the seat. Her weight was more substantial than he would have guessed, but still manageable. From what he could tell, she was so soundly asleep that she didn't even register the movement as he carried her into the ward.

The moment he stepped through the door, Ann was on his case.

"Maker, _now_ what's happened to—?" she started anxiously interrogating, but Hope was quick to silence her with a pointed glare. Serah mumbled something incoherent at the sudden sounds; after that she simply curled in closer to him and softly exhaled.

"She's just asleep," he said quietly, adjusting his burden before heading straight into the back room to lay her down on the overnight bed. He looked up at Ann once she came in behind him.

"And I think you should let her stay this way for a while."

"I'm afraid that's not possible," Ann said plainly, though the look on her face was heavy with concern. She went to the bins on a few different shelves and gathered up a variety of materials and strange-looking instruments, which she then laid out in neat rows on a metal tray next to the bed. Hope was afraid to know their purposes, particularly with regard to an odd pair of metal clamps and the absurdly long q-tips.

He tore his eyes away from the arrangement and asked, "Why's it not possible? Of course she needs medical care, but can't it wait a few hours?"

"Not if anything significant happened to her over seventy-two hours ago. The longer I wait, the less we'll be able to determine from chemicals in her system or other signs of abuse." The doctor's words were final. Hope's jaw dropped open at the mention of abuse – not that the thought hadn't crossed his mind before, but hearing it outright as if it were anticipated was far more frightening.

"Could you-could you be more specific?" he stammered, feeling as if the wind had been punched out of him. "No one told me _anything_."

Ann looked back at him, her eyes hard when she commented, "Then your superiors did an excellent job. There is no need for you or anyone else to be informed until we know all the facts."

"And why the hell not?" Hope growled in frustration. "I'm probably the most concerned party involved here! You're crazy if you think I'm setting foot outside this room until I'm absolutely sure Serah's okay, so _you_ tell _me_ when I'll have the time to go spreading rumors."

Narrowing her eyes, Ann was about to refute his claims, but their raised voices had finally succeeded in rousing Serah. "Where—?" she started to ask, rubbing her eyes and struggling into a semi-sitting position. "Ann, wh-what are you doing in the warehouse district?"

"I'm here for you," Ann replied in a placating voice. "After that captain friend of yours relayed his concerns about your condition to Lieutenant Baralai, he felt the need to call in someone with more experience – someone you would be comfortable around." The doctor continued to move slowly and deliberately as she applied hand sanitizer and set aside a pair of latex gloves.

Serah's eyes widened fearfully, and Hope felt his heart pounding harder when he saw the reaction. The mention of her condition was making him even more frustrated and concerned over everything he didn't know.

_What is she so afraid of? What did they do to her in there? _

Ann put a comforting hand on Serah's shoulder, but she jumped at the touch. It wasn't lost on Hope.

"Oh, dear," Ann muttered under her breath, backing away to give her rattled intern some space. "Serah," she continued in a calming tone, "we're going to leave the room for a few minutes. I just need you to change into the little gown here on the table, alright? You're familiar with this procedure – it won't be anything new. Remember that exam a few months ago with Doctor Celes?"

Nodding, Serah nevertheless gathered her knees in to her chest protectively. "But you also need to-to do bloodwork, right?" she asked quietly.

Ann removed her glasses and cleaned them as she explained, "Yes, and that still requires that you change out of the uniform." Despite the doctor's even words, Hope thought her actions seemed more like nervous habits. It dawned on him that she was probably just as afraid as he was, and hesitant to do what needed to be done. It wasn't as if she had a choice.

"Okay," Serah replied in a small voice, her hands clasping tighter around her knees.

Every kind of comforting thing Hope wanted to say stuck in his throat. Not that words would have done any good. He felt ill-equipped to make a positive impact on the situation, and he felt like an idiot for just standing there mute, watching the most important person in his life barely hold herself together.

_I need to know why._

The very next moment, Ann ushered him out the door and shut it behind them. His train of thought was still running full speed, and he immediately spun around to face her.

"_Now_ will you explain what's going on?" Hope asked again, hoping persistence might annoy her into passing on hints or vague information, if nothing else. "It's not like you have something better to do for the next five minutes."

Ann crossed her arms and stood squarely in front of the closed door, as if her tiny body could keep everyone and everything out of the back room. She glanced over at the soldier on watch behind the little reception desk, and then leveled Hope with a weighty stare – one that carried more implications than he could count.

"I suppose you'll find out eventually," Ann replied quietly in her usual businesslike manner. "Still, consider yourself warned."

She spent the next two minutes giving him a brief overview of what Serah's situation had been within Central, merely implying what she was afraid to discover based on the PSICOM captain's report. It was enough to torture Hope, just knowing that Serah had been locked up alone in a lab, and that a single doctor from Research and Development had maintained total control of her for those two weeks – a doctor who apparently aimed to confirm her l'Cie state, along with accomplishing unknown objectives through experimentation.

Ann's words sank into Hope's brain and burned like acid. He could easily put it all together in his mind; he understood her fears and could imagine the twisted possibilities.

_That sicko probably treated Serah like some science project. But if he was testing her because he thought she might still be l'Cie, I doubt it would've taken two weeks to figure that out. He must've wanted something else from her…_

The contents of Hope's stomach threatened to erupt from his throat, and his face burned angrily. Not knowing what to even do with himself, he pressed his palms against the sides of his head to shut out the world and hold in his horrific thoughts.

"It's not— y-you don't mean… _No!_ Just—no. Why would anyone want to hurt Serah like-like _that_?"

Ann actually looked sympathetic toward his miserable state. Lowering her gaze to the floor, she shook her head in equivalent disbelief. "I wish I could answer that, but some things in life defy explanation. In any case, we won't know for certain what chemicals are in her system, or what… _other _damage might have been done until this examination is completed. I take it you understand why I can't let you back into the room."

"I-I do," Hope said quietly, lowering his shaking hands to his sides. He automatically tightened them into fists. "And whoever that messed-up doctor is who did this to Serah is going to pay. Maybe it'll be years from now, but I'll see to it _personally_."

Ann quickly countered, "I'm afraid that won't be necessary. According to the captain who reported to us, that man is already dead."

"What?" Hope breathed in astonishment. "You mean he just— died? Or someone actually killed the guy?" He honestly wasn't sure whether to feel pleased or disappointed with the unexpected news, but either way, it was a relief to know that the man could never touch Serah again.

Checking her watch, Ann started to turn back to the door. "The captain didn't say how he died, just that we didn't need to be concerned about him reporting Serah's escape or tracking her down. His exact words were 'permanently indisposed'."

Some deep, dark part of Hope wished for the opportunity to drop a phoenix down on the doctor and kill him a second time in the worst possible way. He hadn't decided what that method was, but he hoped the man's actual death had at least been agonizing.

"Thanks for letting me know, Miss Ann," Hope said hollowly. He headed for the front door, intent on taking a brisk run over to the number three warehouse to check on the ongoing extraction mission. Sitting around waiting for a determination about Serah would only drive him crazy with speculation and fruitless worrying.

Just as he reached the door, the front window was illuminated by a brilliant flash of light, followed by a rolling peal of thunder. Hope opened the door to an absolute downpour and the occasional, distant veins of lightning briefly cutting through the curtain of darkness, refracted through sheets of rain. That electrical phenomenon always made him think of the woman who had taken it as her name, without exception. Stepping into the shower to push the velocycle to shelter, he wondered how Lightning would handle Serah's crisis if she came back to her sister in the state he had witnessed – broken and afraid. He wondered if the soldier would have the magic words that could make Serah feel safe and whole again, or if that was exclusively Snow's department.

Either one of them would be better equipped to help her than he was. That much was certain.

Another brilliant streak of lightning and resounding crack of thunder echoed Hope's frustration as he sloshed through deepening puddles on the street. As ridiculous as it was to admit, the storm felt comforting to him. It silently cast its judgment on the terrible events beyond his control.

_I hate this, Light. You wouldn't believe how much._

* * *

Serah curled up closer to the wall beneath the overnight bed, shivering in her flimsy white gown. She felt ashamed of herself for reacting like a frightened animal, but the instant she had seen the little vial with its hollow needle – waiting for her blood – in the gloved hands of Miss Ann, her body took on a will of its own. She had flinched back, finally scrabbling off the side of the bed and dragging herself underneath it.

_But it's-it's just Ann. She would never hurt me. Why can't I grow a spine and face this? I can't even pin down the memory of what happened right after that blood draw in room forty-nine… Though it really did mark the turning point, when things started going downhill fast._

"Serah, there is nothing to be afraid of," Ann called down from beside the bed, still allowing Serah some space instead of trying to force her out right away. "You've done hundreds of blood draws on patients in the clinic before, and I know you understand why it's important for me to run tests on your blood chemistry before it's too late. I'm also concerned about your fluids in general, but I cannot set up your IV or help you at all if you stay under this bed and dehydrate yourself. It's for your own good, dear."

Serah stammered weakly, "I do know I need t-to do this, but last time I-I-I…"

"You what, dear? What happened last time?" Ann's usually steady tone wavered in the face of strong concern, enough so that it made Serah feel even more ashamed of her behavior.

"I-I don't remember much," Serah struggled to explain. "A-after he took the blood, my memory's just _blank_ until… until…"

_Until the moment I woke up strapped to that table, naked and freezing._

Ann had knelt on the floor by that point, her hands clutching the front of her scrubs pant legs. She nearly whispered, "Until what, Serah?"

Shaking her head wildly against the floor, Serah wrapped her arms tightly across her chest, shivering more from the memory of being cold than the actual chill in the room. The last thing she wanted was to relive every detail of the nightmare again as she had with Miles. She didn't need to get it off her chest a second time. What she wanted more than anything was to feel secure and, having achieved that peaceful state, to sleep. She knew exactly what that required.

"Where did Hope go?" Serah asked at length, once the chills had subsided.

The doctor suddenly sat up straighter, looking attentive to the change as Serah calmed down. "He stepped out to check on the other operation, but I'm sure we can call him back. It wouldn't be appropriate to have him here during the physical examination, though. Would you prefer to take care of that first, and then call him in?"

That option sounded doable. "Yes," Serah replied, satisfied with the thought of making progress – the faster it was all done, the faster she could forget everything and move on with life.

Slowly, she uncurled herself, got to her hands and knees on the concrete floor beneath the bed and crawled out to where Ann was still sitting back on her heels.

"I think I'm okay now," Serah said quietly, mirroring the doctor's position on the floor. "Thanks for understanding."

* * *

"Wow, I think the universe _wins_ this time. You're half-drowned!" Yuj remarked as soon as Hope swung open the door to Lieutenant Baralai's office, dripping a puddle of rainwater where he stood. Yuj seemed to find it hilarious, and he snickered to himself as he leaned back dangerously far in the folding chair.

"Think you might top a hundred pounds now?"

Hope felt a fleeting desire to kick the unstable legs of the chair as he glared through his water-flattened bangs. "I'm one hundred forty-one _dry_, thanks. And I didn't run over here in that torrent to get teased the second I came in. You already know we got Serah back, but how are Maqui and the others doing? They had to have already—"

"Wait," Yuj snapped, instantly sitting upright. He pressed the button for channel four. Hope watched his previously carefree expression melting away, eyebrows wrinkling up with worry and confusion as he listened.

The first words out his mouth, after a long stretch of tense silence, were disconcerting.

"Not enough time? But you said— Wait, just slow down a sec. How did _that_ happen?"

Hope thought his heart was going to stop.

_Are they trapped? They can't be! We'll have to call Gippal, get a team ready…_

Before he could shout out his panicked response, Yuj continued in a voice tinged with regret, "Well hey, it is what it is – not your fault the power overloaded. Just get your asses out of there and call me every fifteen minutes or so, got it? This thunderstorm is no joke."

"Are they taking off? Or did something happen to the ship?" Hope asked anxiously, his boots squelching as he practically leaped over to Yuj from the door and grabbed his shoulders. "What happened? Can I please talk to them?"

Yuj waved him away and protectively covered the earpieces of the headset. "The ship's fine and they're on their way out, but you don't need to be slinging water around sensitive electronics like this! Letting you wear the headset is out of the question."

"Well then tell me what happened yourself!" Hope exclaimed, irritated and itching to grab the headset. But he couldn't deny that Yuj was right.

"Calm down, Hope. There's really not much to tell at this point. All I know is that some power surge around the building blew out the electricity in Central shortly before they were going to take off." Pausing for a breath, Yuj said a little more optimistically, "And that may have worked in their favor. PSICOM's got its hands full with too many problems now to worry about one beaten-up transport."

_Then why did you look so worried? Something went wrong._

"That's great and all, but what about Snow and Light?" Hope asked warily. "It sounded like they ran into a problem – something worse than just stumbling around in the dark for a minute or two."

Yuj blinked and looked away, trying to hide his conflicted expression. He briefly chewed on his lip before he bothered to look back up. And when he did, Hope was afraid to find out the meaning behind the guilt all over his face.

"They found them, but they didn't—well, they _couldn't _get both of them out. The power surge interrupted everything, and before that the guards had already been on crazy-high alert," Yuj tried to explain. His voice was becoming more distant to Hope's ears, even as he continued, "But Maqui didn't have time to tell me all the details, you know…"

_I shouldn't be praying that it wasn't her – that she wasn't left behind again. It's better than nothing to have either one of them back, for Serah._

Hope backed away until he bumped into the small desk in the office, staring blankly at the wall behind Yuj. His head was fast becoming a mind-numbing buzz of denial.

_I can't keep hoping—No! What if Maqui just couldn't see that both of them were there in the dark? Or maybe Yuj misunderstood what he said in all the panic. _

_Maybe it wasn't… wasn't… Please, not _her.

Deep down, he knew the leaden lump of dread in his gut was right. He wanted to scream.

Not that Hope had that luxury. His communicator beeped loudly from some inner pocket of his shirt in the next instant, startling him from his trance, and he knew it would be too important to dismiss. Flicking open the device – and surprised it had stayed dry – he took a breath and took the call.

"Hello?"

"Hope, this is Ann," her uncharacteristically strained voice greeted from the other end. "I need you to come back to the ward as soon as possible. Don't be alarmed, but please do hurry, understand?"

"Yes, I'll be right there," he replied immediately. His voice sounded so much emptier to his ears than he really meant it to be.

_I can't tell Serah. I need to see for myself, first._

Hope made time sprinting out of the office and through the storm again, slipping a couple of times in pockets of mud but thankfully not wiping out. The duty medic raised an eyebrow at his state once Hope stepped into the ward, but otherwise he didn't bother him about the mess he was making with his muddy boots and the trail of rainwater.

"Good luck in there, kid," the medic muttered from behind his desk, staring down with grim determination at his pile of paperwork.

Hope gulped nervously but went straight for the back door. He had just raised his hand to knock when he heard a loud crash – the sound of metallic instruments clattering to the ground.

Immediately following the clamor, Ann exclaimed from inside the room. "Serah—stop! This is only going to make things harder on you!"

No longer bothering to knock, Hope rushed into the room and took in the situation, his exhausted eyes unnaturally sharp. Serah had somehow ended up crouched down in the back corner of the room, curled around her knees and pressed against the wall as if pleading for it to suck her in. She darted her eyes fearfully between where Hope stood inside the doorway and where Ann knelt on the floor, picking up the mess.

Hope's first impulse was to take off in Serah's direction, but he hadn't moved a single step when Ann raised a finger to get his attention and said in a stern tone, "Wait, Hope."

Squatting down next to the frazzled doctor instead, he whispered back, "What is it? And what on Pulse freaked her out like that?"

"It was the IV needle," Ann sighed, shaking her head. "And she needs those fluids more than anything right now. I'm shocked that she hasn't fallen out on me yet."

"So… what can I do to help? It's not like you can stab an IV into her if she's reacting like this, even if I tried to calm her down." Hope shuddered briefly at the thought, not wanting to participate in anything remotely similar to what she must have suffered through. "Can't you just give her some water?"

Ann shot him a plainly sardonic glare. "I already did that much. But she needs a great deal more fluid than that, and as quickly as possible. At this rate, a bottle of water in her system is no better than the contents of a teacup on a dying plant in a drought. And for all I know, the dehydration is intensifying her fear – she may well be delirious. I'm afraid we've only got one option left, though it isn't my preference."

Bringing her hand up, she opened her palm to reveal a small syringe filled with clear fluid. She took a deep breath before hurriedly explaining, "I just need you to calm her down for a minute, and keep her still. The sedative will work quickly, so she can finally get the IV fluids and some rest."

Hope's stomach clenched tightly with the thought, the conflicted emotions of guilt and desperation twisting around each other as he looked over to Serah's shaking form in the corner. The white gown swallowed her body, making her seem even smaller and more fragile than she typically looked. He hated to make another choice between two unpleasant alternatives, but there it was: risk frightening her with the sedative or let her dehydrate.

_Can't blame her for hating needles. It's sad, though – this never was a problem for her before._

"Can you—will you promise not to let her see the needle, if I do this?" he asked, the request barely even audible.

Ann nodded, her reply sincere. "I'll do my best."

"Then I will, too." Hope stood to his feet and took slow steps across the room to Serah – she followed the movement with her frightened gaze. Sitting beside her against the wall, he gingerly wrapped an arm around her trembling shoulders. As nervous as she was, she still flinched from the contact but relaxed into his side a few moments later, not seeming to care that he was soaked through.

"I talked to Ann," Hope said softly, taking a roundabout approach to the goal. "And she thinks you should get some sleep. Wanna go lay back down?"

_Ugh, I should be struck dead for doing this…_

The lengthening delay without an answer worried Hope. He started to rub little circles on Serah's shoulder, asking instead, "Sis, can you tell me what you need? I just want to help, if-if I can."

Her reply finally came in the form of quiet sobbing. She shook and sniffled, twisting around to bury her face in his sopping wet uniform shirt. Every sound eroded at Hope's already crumbling strength – his own powerlessness would have infuriated him, had he not been so exhausted. As it was, he just held on tighter and fought the urge to cry himself.

Across the room, Ann seemed to have taken Serah's breaking down as a cue. She walked lightly toward them and knelt down beside Serah's turned back, placing a hand on her shoulder. The apologetic but resigned look she gave Hope made him feel only the tiniest bit less wrong for his actions. He hoped Serah would understand.

_Please don't turn around. _

She wasn't about to do that – if anything, she cried harder and clung to Hope's uniform shirt with no regard for Ann's presence. The doctor carefully aligned her syringe with a point on the back of Serah's left arm, still gripping that shoulder for stability. Afraid that Serah might squirm or tear away and hurt herself, Hope took hold of her left hand where it was attached to his shirt.

When Ann inserted the needle, Serah tried to jerk her arm away from the pinprick she felt, but Hope kept her still and held the arm in place, trapped between them. He could tell that she had no energy left to really fight him, and it made him sick to think that he'd used her trust against her, taking advantage of a vulnerability.

Thankfully, Serah's crying stopped completely within a minute. Her grip relaxed beneath Hope's hand, and she became as still as she was silent.

Hope didn't make a move to get up. He slumped against the wall behind them, wishing for the thousandth time that things could have gone differently over the past month. Staring down at his hand where it still held onto Serah's, his vision blurred over and he let the tears fall.

Ann's voice eventually brought him back around. "Hope, could you help me get her set up comfortably? I'm sorry to have to ask so many things of you."

"It's okay," he mumbled, swiping a hand over his tired eyes.

_I've been lying all night – what's one more?_


	13. The world outside

**A/N: I really do owe everyone a thousand apologies for the lateness of this post, especially after the awesome review response from last chapter. Who'd have guessed my beta-roomie was going to come down with a case of acute vertigo for over a week? Seriously, that IS what happened – she couldn't even walk straight, go to work or watch TV, much less read anything, which sadly included my story. I'm just thankful it WASN'T the Focus virus in some twisted alternate reality… But yesterday, she was finally able to do my pre-posting edit! XD AND in the meantime, I pretty much wrote the entire next chapter and part of the one after that, so the next post has to be soon *crosses fingers against vertigo* Anyway, here's the new chapter, and I sincerely hope it's to everyone's liking after the wait. Again, apologyX1000. Oh, and a couple of intro notes:**

***PFC – Private First Class; it's the rank between Private and Corporal.**

***Adamantoise – this elephant-like Pulsian beast was all over the place in the game, but my beta-roomie freaked out about one of my remarks not being clear at all if readers didn't know what an adamantoise was. So just in case I have readers who are unclear on that, here ya go ;) For the sake of the written expression I used, adamantoise = elephant.**

The world outside

_Ow…_

Whatever the source, the prodding against Hope's side persisted. He was just too tired to wake up and stop it himself.

"Cut it… out…" he slurred against the leather glove his face rested upon.

The request earned him some relief, but then a very insistent female voice scolded, "Look, you can't just lay down and sleep on watch _or_ in uniform. So get up already! I really shouldn't have to explain—"

"What are you talking about?" Hope grumbled, sitting up to rub his blurry eyes in the near darkness. His shoulder and hip ached from where he had been sleeping with his body half off a small chair in the ward's front room. At some point, he had rested his head onto his folded arms on the seat of the chair – which explained why his right cheek hurt, after being mashed against a buckle on the glove's cuff. The damp uniform felt itchy and gross against his skin, and he assumed the various pains across his lower back and arms were from bruises inflicted during the tavern brawl.

_Ugh… I must've passed out after Ann sent me away from the back room._

Still irritated, he twisted around to look up at the woman responsible for disturbing him.

"Is kicking people a part of turnover, or wha—? Oh. Lucil?"

"Who else? And that's _Corporal_ to you… Hey, wait a sec." She stopped mid-rant and flicked on a nearby light switch. Seeing her mistake at once, she tightened her hands into fists and stomped in frustration.

"Damn it, Hope! I thought you were the on-duty medic," Lucil exclaimed, her flustered expression coming into focus. Under any other circumstances, Hope would have been happier to see her, or at least amused, but the thoughts that filled his mind were of lingering fear and disappointment from the previous night.

Hope pulled himself up from the floor using the chair and collapsed into it. "That guy went to run an errand before turnover, I think," he mumbled tiredly. "When did you guys get back in the district?"

"Just a few minutes ago. The border protection squad picked us up from the first outpost right after the rain started slacking off." Now that she wasn't irritated or embarrassed, Lucil just sounded drained. She leaned against the wall next to where Hope sat and reached over to muss his damp hair, asking tentatively, "So… how's Serah doing?"

_Okay? Terrible? I'll let you know in a few months? _

"I'd tell you if I knew for sure," Hope replied, slouching down further in the chair. "The one thing Miss Ann is certain of right now is that she isn't physically injured, and there wasn't any evidence of… abuse, I guess." He still cringed at the thought, but continued.

"They're still shut in back there, but Ann might've already reported official results to the lieutenant by now. It's kind of a 'do not disturb' zone so Serah can rest. How much did Yuj pass on about the situation while you guys were in the air?"

Lucil removed her hand and let it fall to her side, sighing. "Next to nothing – not that it was his fault. Gadot, Maqui and Sazh are over there talking with him and Lieutenant Baralai now, compiling a bunch of information for a debrief with the captain at zero-six. I actually volunteered to come over here and make sure you were alive. Looks like Maroda did his duty while I was gone."

"Yeah," Hope said, laughing shortly at the thought of the stoic man punching the sentry's jaw. "But he was kind of… dull. No offense to the guy."

Echoing his laugh, Lucil shrugged and replied, "It's not like you're saying it to his face. And hell, I'm relieved! Can't have some already-decorated corporal stealing my escort duty."

"Not a chance," Hope yawned, stretching as he tacked on, "I mean, how many times have you saved my life now?"

"Four, if you count transferring you to a different barracks after you made that smartass comment to PFC Barthello," she chuckled. "Don't get me wrong – that guy has the IQ of a potato, but he _would_ have killed you."

Hope just rolled his eyes. "_Now_ the truth comes out. But sure, go ahead and count that one."

A few moments passed in silence, making Hope even more keenly aware of how they were dancing around the issues that hung over their heads in the mission's aftermath. They would have to face the music sooner or later. In usual fashion, the corporal made the first move.

"Well, you know," she began, sounding a little uneasy, "since we can't really do anything over here right now, I'm sure the lieutenant could use your perspective for the debrief. You feeling up to it?"

Hope looked down at his watch. It was already 0435, so they didn't have much time. The others probably needed the information he could give them, and the captain would certainly demand a comprehensive report.

_It's not like I have a choice. Whether I'm actually wearing a uniform or not, this is an obligation that comes with being a part of the mission._

"I'm good. We should head over there now," Hope said flatly, standing to his feet and wincing again at the aches all over his body. He wasn't about to waste time complaining about anything so trivial, so he just ignored it and went straight for the door.

"Right behind you!" Lucil called out.

* * *

Serah awoke to the drab illumination of pre-dawn light coming from a high window in the back wall. Her head felt fuzzy and her thoughts were detached, but nothing else seemed wrong or even out of the ordinary. The harsh, artificial lights of the room were off, and everything was so quiet that she swore she could hear the occasional drip from the IV. She turned her heavy head toward a presence to her left.

"Good morning," Ann said with a slight smile. Her bun was several strands shy of its usually meticulous tidiness and she looked fatigued, but she no longer seemed particularly worried. "How are you feeling?"

Blinking slowly, Serah mumbled, "I'm just… tired."

_The mission should be over now, shouldn't it? What time is it?_

"H-how is everyone else?"

"If you mean your friends in the transport, they've all made it back safely," Ann said reassuringly. "I can ask Hope and the others to give you more details later, but they're in a meeting right now. You should rest for a bit longer, alright dear?"

"Al-right." Serah relaxed into the pillow again, closing her heavy eyelids.

_Safe. We're all safe._

* * *

"Three hours?" Hope exclaimed incredulously, unable to grasp the words that had just come from the lieutenant's mouth. "You know Serah's still hooked up to an IV, right? And she hasn't even woken up yet!"

It was almost more than he could take, right after spilling his guts about everything she had been through since their rendezvous and escape. Even Ann's optimistic report about Serah's physical state couldn't quite take the edge off.

Baralai didn't seem to react in the least to his outburst. He calmly explained, "I'm aware of the situation. That doesn't change the fact that we need to get all of you away from the settlement before PSICOM has the chance to catch up with their losses from last night. Eventually, you know they will come here, and this time they will have more authority to search the district however they please. It's a second, far more serious offense for the Corps; PSICOM can claim two counts of stolen property against us, as well as both prison breach and the harboring of an escaped detainee, at the very least. I expect there will be additional charges attached, depending on how much they know or can assume to be our fault."

_Maker, I hate politics _and_ law! Maybe Dad would be able to help, if he was here._

"I-I do understand that," Hope ground out. As much as he wanted to fume with anger, he knew it was pointless. He turned his pained expression to the floor and stuffed his fists back into the still-damp pockets of the uniform. The mention, again, of 'stolen property' had further inflamed the gaping emotional wound that he'd continued to cover up since speaking to Yuj hours before. Those 'two counts,' he now knew indisputably, were the recovered transport and Snow's crystallized body.

For once, he hated that he had been right.

Hope felt a strong hand clamp onto his shoulder and turned to see Sazh there, looking down with his dark, concerned eyes. Next to what Serah would feel, the older man's sympathy was the closest to real understanding that Hope could expect from anyone. At least Sazh had known Lightning. He had come to respect her enough during their time as l'Cie that he felt some sense of loss.

It seemed like the Guardian Corps didn't have it in them to fear for the life of a single soldier anymore – not after the vast majority of the force had been lost in Cocoon's fall. The most Hope had witnessed on the military's end was the guilt on Lucil's face. It was exactly like Yuj's expression had been, and Maqui's when he explained what had gone wrong. Maqui in particular had seemed so preoccupied in his avoidance of Hope that he gave himself away.

But the choking atmosphere from their disappointment had subsided several minutes before, when the entire extraction team finished recounting the details of the mission to Baralai. After that, and after the lieutenant explained the plans for an immediate relocation of all non-military parties involved until a remote base could be established, Hope tuned out the world. He let the timeline of the events he had just heard from the extraction mission weave together and play like a movie in his mind:

It started inside Research and Development. Shortly after Lucil's conversation with him on the communicator from room forty-two, she had found Snow and Lightning in room forty-eight – right across the hall from where Serah had been. The corporal had incapacitated the guards at the scene without a second thought.

After that, Maqui led the three-person group transporting Snow with buoyancy nodes to lighten the load, and Lucil had the group with Lightning right behind them. Gadot and several remaining members were busy securing the exit from Research and Development, ready to clear the path to the transport.

Then the PSICOM guard tripled without warning.

To make matters worse, the power went out after Maqui's crew cleared the doors with Snow, just as Lucil's crew had gotten Lightning to the exit. They didn't expect the buoyancy nodes to overload and die like the building's power, leaving them with dead-weight crystals, but that was exactly the situation in which they found themselves.

In the darkness and confusion, there were barely enough people to fight off the guards, haul Snow on raw strength, and prepare for takeoff at the same time.

It all boiled down to a simple conclusion: no one could save Lightning.

As Hope's thoughts completed the cycle of rehashing events, everyone except Sazh and himself finally dispersed from the number three warehouse to get ready before the real debrief. They were all dirty and tired and running out of time, Hope included, but he couldn't unglue his feet from where they had planted. His mind played over like a broken record, sticking on the final scene that he had imagined – one where the transport blasted off, leaving Lightning frozen in the dark.

_They couldn't do it. They just couldn't, and there's no one to blame… I can't really even blame PSICOM, not after that captain saved Serah. Maybe I could pick a few officers as targets, but what's the use in that? Would it bring any justice for Serah or Light? And what can I do to fix things myself? _

_I just don't know where all this pain is supposed to go._

"Hope? Hey, snap out of it," Sazh said, shaking his shoulder and bringing him to the present. Instead of picturing an image of Lightning in a black cell, or alternately of Serah in a white hospital room, Hope saw the blotchy gray interior of the warehouse before his eyes again.

He ran his hands through his hair and looked up at Sazh, but his own eyes were lost. "Sazh… I don't know what to do anymore. I don't and I can't-I can't help—"

In one of his rare moments of emotional display, Sazh just trapped him in a bear hug. When Hope felt the tears welling up in his eyes, he tried to tell himself that it was from the pressure on his bruised arms. Of course, he knew better.

"No one expects you to do anything right now, son. Not half-starved and worn down like this," Sazh said protectively, patting him on the back. "I couldn't give two shakes about what anyone says, not even the captain himself – you're still a sixteen-year-old kid. I'm handlin' things for now and that's that, alright?"

"But what about the meeting? And the move?" Hope asked, his choked voice muffled against Sazh's coat.

The pilot held him at arm's length and cracked a smile when Hope sniffed and scrubbed at his eyes like he'd gotten something in them. "Leave the meeting to me," Sazh ordered. "Baralai's got sharp ears, and he already heard your report as clear as I did. You just go get cleaned up, and for god's sake _eat _somethin'. After that, I'd say pack your bags and we'll go from there. You got all that?"

"Yeah, I got it." Actually smiling back, Hope waved and ran off for the barracks with a newfound purpose.

* * *

"Really don't have much to my name, do I?" Hope muttered to himself as he stuffed his boomerang into a large rucksack. He had turned in the dirty Guardian Corps uniform to be laundered and given back to its owner, so the only other items he had packed were his spare set of coveralls, a couple of t-shirts, a few pair of socks and boxers, and his long-outgrown clothes from Cocoon that Serah refused to throw out. The tiny black box in front of him was all that remained.

He opened it up, carefully lifting out the necklace inside by its shimmering chain to inspect the opal pendant.

_Well Mom, maybe this will be the last move for a little while._

"Wow, that's really beautiful," Lucil said quietly from the door. Hope jumped where he sat and snapped his gaze toward her voice, wondering when exactly she had arrived.

"How do people keep sneaking up on me?" he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment and placing the necklace in its box.

She crossed her arms and leaned against the doorframe. "I thought you might have a heart attack if I knocked – looked like you were in some kind of trance. So, was that necklace your mother's?"

"Oh… Well yeah, it was hers. It's too feminine for me to wear it, and it would be a safety hazard on the job if I did anyway," Hope explained, carefully packing the little box among his clothing for protection. "Maybe I'll hand it down or something, eventually."

"Gotta envy your kids. Not many people even have heirlooms, anymore." Lucil stooped down to pick up a rucksack from out in the hall, finally stepping into the room. As she tossed the bag onto Hope's bunk, she said casually, "Lebreau packed this up for Serah. She said you had one of her outfits, too."

Hope stood quickly and returned to the small dresser, opening his almost empty drawer to pull out the folded stack of clothes there. "Thanks for the reminder," he remarked. He rushed over and added them the the rucksack of Serah's belongings.

"And Hope," Lucil said suddenly, pulling his attention from the task, "I really— I'm sorry we didn't complete the mission. I don't know Sergeant Farron myself – I've only heard of her from you or Serah, or other soldiers who knew about her from before, but that doesn't mean I shouldn't care. And it doesn't change the fact that we failed. Maybe-maybe I can make it up to you someday, if that helps at all—"

"Stop," Hope interrupted, grabbing onto her shoulders. He was frustrated at seeing that guilty look on her face again, but his mind felt much clearer than it had two hours before. "This isn't even _about_ me. You're right, though – we all failed. So we're all going to have to make up for it, for Serah and Light, okay?"

The corporal looked stunned, but she recovered quickly. Hope didn't know what to make of the weighty expression that accompanied her composed reply.

"Whatever you say. But I'm still doing this for you, whether you like it or not."

"You don't owe me anything," Hope muttered, confounded. He released her like she might suddenly catch fire and turned to close up Serah's bag. He then picked up his own rucksack from the floor and continued searching his mind for a way to be clearer. "Really, didn't you just say this morning that you'd saved my pathetic life four times already?"

"That's my duty. Consider this a favor," Lucil said stubbornly. "And if you call yourself pathetic one more time, I'm kicking your ass."

Hope just grinned, relieved that she seemed to be back to normal. "As long as you save it for after the move." Checking his watch, he added, "We're down to about fifteen minutes, by the way."

The corporal cursed under her breath and darted out the door, apparently having forgotten her own things. Hope laughed to himself at another of his escort's random moments of distraction, but it wasn't long before his mind wandered along a different track. Maqui's bunk was still neatly made from weeks before, right above his own untouched bed, and he hadn't seen his friend set foot in the room to pack up the contents of his drawer yet. With things down to the wire as they were, Hope sighed and went about finding another rucksack. For all he knew, the mechanic was more concerned about packing his tools than he was his clothing.

_I just hope he's not avoiding me anymore._

* * *

Serah was developing a strong dislike of camping.

She just couldn't bring herself to call it hate. Sure, she had spent two months living in a tent when the first structures of the settlement were still being erected, but that didn't mean she had liked it. Sleeping in a real bed for a year and a half had spoiled her.

Along with that, round two of transient living had been awkward since departure from the settlement.

During the first leg of their journey from home – which was fast becoming a hostile territory – she had been groggy from drugs and exhaustion, not even capable of thinking about much besides an indistinct, bone-deep sadness she felt for her sister after hearing that news. They were all on noisy velocycles anyway, so it wasn't as if she could talk about the coming arrangements.

The second part of the trip was a bit different, but no less uncomfortable. All the members of NORA, the former l'Cie, Corporal Lucil and the doctor were flying to the Guardian Corps' third and most remote outpost, Charlie Station, from its first outpost of Alpha Station, via the recovered transport that had been safely hidden at Alpha during the storm. Once at Charlie Station, they would be protected by the soldiers who stood guard in rotating shifts around the glorified rock outcropping there. It wasn't a location with permanent facilities, but it was only meant to be their home until a new base was established.

Sazh had been tasked to fly the transport. After he offered the option of sitting the copilot position to his protégé, Hope remained adamant about staying with Serah, so Sazh just ended up bringing Dajh into the cockpit. Serah was still feeling sleepy and tried to take a nap on Hope's shoulder during the ride, but the tension in the ship's main cabin made it difficult to rest. No one seemed to have the will to speak for most of the trip except Lebreau, who kept asking Ann sensitive questions about Serah's medical condition and getting shut down by the aggravated doctor.

Conversely, Maqui was so deliberate about not speaking or looking toward Serah and Hope that even she, in her medicated state, was keenly aware of the adamantoise in the transport. And it wasn't Snow's crystallized form in the cargo bay, though his looming presence didn't exactly improve the atmosphere.

After all of that, Serah thought setting up camp would be a welcome relief. She was more than a little mistaken.

Once Sazh had landed the ship, everyone grabbed supplies and trudged out into the chilly air of early evening. That was when the pilot decided to stand on the ramp and announce, "Alright everybody! We've got about two hours to get this camp in order, so I'll need you all to pitch in. Lieutenant Gippal expects me to take charge of this little operation, and that means no whinin', no backsass, and no slackin' off – well, except you, Serah." That got a little laugh from the tired party of travellers, and they all seemed more or less ready to get started.

"Corporal, pick a couple of people to help with the campfire and some dinner," he ordered, pointing at Lucil's less than enthusiastic face. "And Gadot, I need you to get a group started with the tents. Let's move!"

From her seated vantage point at the top of the ramp, Serah huddled against her knees and played the removed observer to a series of ill-boding events. First, she noted that Maqui made a pointed effort to be a part of the tent crew once Hope had decided to help with the campfire, and she wondered again exactly what was going on with his behavior. Then, despite the fact that Gadot and his group were successful at setting up the five tents, a problem arose when Yuj stepped back to observe their handiwork.

"Um, Gadot?" he asked uncomfortably, drumming his fingers on his chin. "We have a little problem."

The large man stood up from where he had just hammered in the final stake, rolling his shoulder. "How little are we talking?" he asked.

Yuj stood back, hand on his hip as he cocked his head to one side and stared at the semicircle of canvas structures. He finally explained, "Well, just— moderately little. As in these tents are going to be cramped with two people in them."

"So?" Gadot replied. "We'll have to suck it up and get used to it. No big deal."

The blue-haired man was unmoved. "It's going to become a big deal. Just wait."

Later on, once the campfire was going strong and Lebreau started dishing out some kind of a stew from a little pot, Serah thought back to Yuj's words. Looking at the ring of tired faces all around, she would have believed everyone was beyond the ability to consider complaining about close sleeping quarters. But once it came up, she found she was wrong again.

"So, we've hit a small inconvenience with the sleeping arrangements," Yuj said suddenly, right in the middle of everyone's silent dinner. The whole collection of bloodshot eyes and cranky expressions pointed over the campfire to him, and he visibly shrank back. "It's really not that bad! Geez, don't death-glare the messenger," he pleaded, waving his hands in defense.

Sazh spoke up, still trying to take charge. "It's all good, Yuj. Just tell us what's going on."

"Well… we've planned on staying two per tent all along, but it looks like it's going to be a bit cozier than we could've guessed, given the size of these tents," he began, flinching again when the irritated looks aimed at him intensified. "It's okay, though – I mean it's already getting cold so… yeah…"

At that point, Gadot shook his head and continued for him, "Look, let's make this really simple. Sazh and Dajh ought to share, and it's only right to pair up the girls. So between the four of us guys remaining, how should we split this?"

Serah could see the gears turning in Hope's head behind his intensely focused eyes. He'd been staring at the fire since Yuj mentioned the tent problem, and as soon as Gadot opened things up for discussion, he looked toward him only to say thoughtfully, "I'll stay with Maqui, if that's okay."

The blonde mechanic froze, wide-eyed with his soup bowl halfway to his mouth. He looked like he wanted to hide under a rock. It was a long, awkward moment later before he dared respond, and all that entailed was a forced shrug of indifference.

Gadot seemed to take that as an affirmative. "Alright then. See, Yuj – that wasn't so bad, now was it?"

"Thank the Maker," Yuj sighed, collapsing backward on the ground.

Lebreau snorted in obvious amusement at the NORA guys, but Sazh just grinned as he announced, "Well, guess that settles it. Y'all have a good night, and try not to make too much racket. It might attract monsters." He picked up his drowsy son from his lap and headed away from the campfire to one of the tents.

Despite appearing pleased to get his way at first, Hope's eyebrows furrowed above the rim of his bowl as he finished the soup and concentrated on whatever was bothering him. Serah was almost certain he had been following Maqui's strange behavior, and that the fact had motivated Hope's quick decision. She gave him a supportive side-hug.

"I'm sure you'll work it out," she said. "You can tell me about it in the morning."

Hope turned to face her, exhaustion quickly eclipsing his various other emotions. "I know, I just wish things could hurry up and go back to normal – for all of us. Everything's been so messed up this past month that it's starting to get to me. But if you can hande it, so can I." He smiled for her anyway, hugging her in return before he stood to leave the campfire as everyone else was doing.

Serah felt a blast of chilly air and wrapped her sweater tightly around herself. The dark, wild plains surrounding their camp within the protective cluster of jutting rocks made her feel like an outsider. A poorly equipped, insignificant outsider whose baggy, military-issue cargo pants belied her total lack of fighting prowess.

It was then, under the clear, cold sky of Pulse with the fire beginning to die down and the lobos howling in the distance, that Serah knew for certain she wasn't going to like camping. Not one bit.

* * *

_Why did I get myself into this?_

Huddling in his sleeping bag like a scrunched-up caterpillar on one side of the chilly tent, Hope pondered the outcome of what had turned into a night-long freeze-out. Maqui had maintained the silence for over an hour already, but the factors influencing Hope's own stubborn decision to keep his distance – what little he could manage in the cramped space – were getting more and more one-sided.

On the one hand, there was his natural introversion. And on the other, there was the need to be warm, the chance to actually talk to a friend, and the pressure to figure out what was eating Maqui in the first place.

But mostly the need to be warm.

"This was _your_ bright idea, you know," Maqui said suddenly from underneath the covers. "But hey, if you wanna freeze your ass off anyway, be my guest."

_I am going to kill him. But I'm going to get warm and get some answers first._

"F-fine." Hope gritted his chattering teeth together and worked up the nerve to wriggle his sleeping bag away from the frosty canvas of the tent, up against Maqui's sleeping bag.

"You win."

"Not much of a contest," Maqui quipped, rolling onto his side to make more room. Hope wanted to lash back verbally, but every time he spoke it only exposed how truly cold he was. Instead, he just rolled over to face the other direction and pressed his back against Maqui's, concentrating on trying to warm up and stopping the chills.

"I d-didn't stand a chance in the f-first place, is that it?" he stammered, tempted to argue further but frustrated by how his teeth still chattered and his throat constricted. He couldn't seem to stop shivering.

Maqui huffed from within his sleeping bag, "Yep, it looks that way. You're scrawny, cold-natured and stubborn, and you mashed yourself against the wall for so long that you probably got mild hypothermia."

"I'll b-be fine."

"Whatever." Maqui fell silent again for several minutes, as if he were waiting for something. Wondering what was behind it, Hope didn't bother trying to force the conversation. He lost track of exactly when the chills stopped.

Suddenly, Maqui spoke up again. "Good. It sounds like you're not freezing anymore." He flopped onto his back, stretching in his sleeping bag before he added, "But while we're here, I did want to talk to you. Maybe I kinda needed to be stuck so that I couldn't avoid it anymore."

The regretful tone behind his friend's words hit Hope with renewed force. He'd known something serious was bothering Maqui since the extraction team had returned, and whatever it was had been responsible for the cloud of guilt surrounding him through the debrief and the long trip from the settlement.

"I knew something was up," Hope sighed, rolling over to face him. "Why'd you have to get trapped in a tent with me to talk about it? That's kind of drastic, even for you."

Maqui smiled sadly at the centerline of the tent in the near darkness. "Hmph, I guess so. Anyway, I'm stuck here and I can't run away, so you'll actually get the apology I owe you this time."

"What on Pulse do you owe me an apology for?" Hope asked in confusion.

"Just hear me out, and I'll explain, okay?"

Nodding, Hope just uttered a quiet "Sure."

Maqui let out a heavy breath before he decided to turn completely over on his side to face Hope. From how his brows were scrunched up above his watery eyes and the way he bit his lip, it didn't seem to have been an easy decision.

_Is he… crying?_

"Hope, would you— would you hate me if I told you that it was _my_ choice to save Snow? To just save Snow and leave Lightning behind?"

Hope was absolutely staggered. "You… had a choice?" He almost forgot how to breathe. It hadn't occurred to him that both of the crystallized l'Cie might have been equally accessible – he'd assumed from their reports that Snow had simply been much closer to the ship, or less surrounded by PSICOM guards.

"Yeah, I did," Maqui continued, his voice breaking before he poured out the rest of the details like a flood.

"We got both of them to the doors, and my team was just heading out when the nodes failed, and Gadot – he was swamped with the guards, so I-I told Lucil and her team to help us with Snow, that we'd have to go back for Lightning. I mean she was – she was right _there_! But the next thing I knew we were fighting off the guards and trying to keep them out of the ship, and I had to-to shut the door. That's when it hit me – we weren't going back. We left her, and I'm so, so sorry."

He stopped and wiped at his leakier left eye, widening his right eye to try and glean something from Hope's stunned expression before he pressed on, progressively falling apart. "Hope, I really am sorry this time. I know how close you were to Lightning, and Serah might've been happier too, if-if I'd only had more time to think about who to save. I mean yeah, she loves Snow, but Lightning's her sister. Her only living family! I was just… selfish, in that moment. That makes it… unforgivable, I think. So do you… hate me? I've done some _stupid_ things, but this… has gotta… be the… worst—"

"Shut up, Maqui," Hope muttered sadly. He saw his choked up mess of a friend and couldn't have hated him if he tried. All he thought to do right then, and all he did, was reach out of his sleeping bag to pull him into a clumsy hug.

"Did you really think I'd hate you for making a different choice? You guys were cornered, so you saved the person you were closest to – doesn't change the fact that you _had_ to choose."

_Even if it does really hurt me, that's not relevant. It wasn't fair for anyone involved._

"Thanks… for saying that," Maqui stammered, still working to shut off the tears soaking Hope's collar and to stop his intermittent sniffling. "I'm surprised you haven't even cried a little. You're always kinda weepy about this life-changing stuff."

By that point, Hope was shaking with quiet laughter. He patted Maqui on the back extra hard for good measure. "Oh, I cried alright. Pretty sure I'm all cried out for a solid year."

"You'll be lucky to last a week!" The effect of the sniffling continued to remove the edge from any of Maqui's remarks, and Hope laughed even more. He gave Maqui a playful shove away and wiped at his damp shoulder with mock annoyance.

"For the love of all that's holy, would you guys_ please_ cut the giggles?" Lebreau yelled from the next tent over. Lucil chimed in, "If you don't, expect swift retribution."

And that set both of the boys laughing, smothering their faces in their sleeping bags to muffle the sound. Hope thought he might pass out from the exertion, until a distant but clear roar sounded from somewhere west of the camp. At that, they both froze.

"Maqui?" Hope whispered nervously.

"What?"

"I think that… might be a behemoth."

"Out_stand_ing," Maqui groaned. He sank down farther into his sleeping bag and covered his head. "Guess we're all dead meat if it gets over here. Might as well try and sleep."

_Well that's one way to look at it._

Hope didn't really get the chance to comply, however. He heard the rustling of the tent canvas and saw the thin silhouette of Yuj as he stooped and entered the tent. He squatted down between their heads and whispered harshly, "Listen up, clowns – all the laughing and roaring monsters freakin' woke me up. Hope, I'm kicking you out. Move your ass over to Gadot's tent, and for everyone's sake just go to sleep!"

Maqui huffed at Yuj's intrusion, "You know, he was just about to do that. You're kinda late for a tirade."

"I don't care," Yuj growled. He reached down to grab a handful of Hope's hair and tug insistently. "Hope, out."

"Ow, geez! Just when I finally get comfortable…" Hope grumbled, crawling out into the cold tent. He stuffed his feet into his boots without bothering to tie them and rubbed his chill-prickled arms as he left. After he had made it to the empty sleeping bag beside Gadot in the nextdoor tent, it took him several minutes just to get warm again.

But despite all the trouble, he was grateful Maqui had been able to get so much off his chest, and it wasn't long before the roaring of the behemoth, or whatever monster it was, faded into the background and everything was silent.

* * *

Serah lay flat on her back, counting the shadows on the tent canvas above that were backlit by a waning moon. They made her nervous, and she had already struggled in vain for hours to drift off. Counting shadows was nothing like counting sheep. She wasn't even sure if that strategy worked in the first place.

_I don't want to keep needing sedatives to sleep. People get addicted to medications like that – there has to be something else I can do._

Several different times, it had crossed her mind to just get up and find Hope, but that seemed so silly and desperate that she hadn't dared move. He was probably fast asleep. It would also have seemed absurd to wake Maqui – she never would've heard the end of it from him.

_What would I say? "Sorry to butt in Maqui, but I'm a codependent insomniac right now, so I need to borrow Hope. No hard feelings, 'kay?" Yeah, that's just horrid._

Still, the hours were ticking by, and she didn't want to wake Ann and ask for a pill, or – Maker forbid – a shot. It had admittedly been pleasant to just sleep off and on throughout day, and to not have to think seriously about anything, but leaning on that sort of crutch would only postpone reality crashing down.

As the shadows began to frighten her, Serah covered her eyes with the edge of the sleeping bag and hurriedly thought through her other options. She wanted to feel at ease. It wasn't that she didn't trust Ann, but she simply wasn't as close to her as she was to Hope, and it was more of a professional relationship anyway – certainly not at a level where she felt comfortable crying on the doctor's shoulder about creepy images threatening to flood her imagination.

_Ann needs to know I'm fine, so I can pick up where I left off with training whenever we finally settle somewhere. I can't be such a wreck in front of her._

When it finally got to the point that she couldn't stand trembling with fear anymore, Serah caved to the only option to fix the problem – embarrassing as it could turn out for Hope or herself. She worked up the nerve to crawl out of her sleeping bag and leave the tent in search of him.

Out in the dark with a clear, starry sky overhead, there was a different kind of fear – the kind that made Serah feel terribly small and alone. She sucked in the cold air sharply, her breath steaming when she exhaled, and took comfort in the remaining smoky smell from where their fire had been. It helped to at least think about being warm when her nose and fingers were already going numb. All of the tents were a semicircle of identical points in the deep blackness just before moonset, but she remembered that Maqui and Hope had gone into the second one from the end. She quietly shuffled through the frosted grass and lifted the flap to that tent.

Surprisingly, while she could identify Maqui by the goggles on his head, she couldn't possibly believe that the other person in the tent was Hope. Peering closer in the darkness, she could just make out the blue tint of Yuj's hair sticking out of the sleeping bag and wondered at what point they had switched places.

Hurriedly backing away, Serah moved on to the next tent and poked her head inside. It was easy enough to see which one was Gadot. His stocky form inside the sleeping bag made for a dark, lumpy mountain that took up over half the space in the tent, and she almost laughed. The other, smaller form on the left had to be Hope, though his head was completely covered by the sleeping bag.

Shivering, Serah didn't want to waste any more time in the cold than necessary. She'd gotten so used to being around Hope that she had no qualms about slipping right into the sleeping bag and curling up next to him, careful not to wake him or bump Gadot in the process.

When Hope reflexively nuzzled up to her shoulder in his sleep, Serah couldn't help but smile. She searched her mind, found her special place on the warm shore of Bodhum and began to settle in comfortably. As she breathed in the smells of nighttime and the campfire before she drifted off, her thoughts changed course and took her into the sky, to that last display of beautiful festival fireworks bursting all around, leaving wisps of smoke and colors hanging in the air. She wasn't alone.

_Snow, I'll never forget that night._

* * *

Hope felt as if he had slept for a minute and an eternity. He wasn't sure of the time, and he didn't feel the need to open his eyes and find out. He had spent too long on his back and was already sore and uncomfortable, so he tried to lift himself to turn over. It was a shock when he felt the weight of someone else's body on his chest and arm, pinning him down.

Worse, it was a little too obvious that it wasn't Maqui, or anyone male for that matter. He gulped, his face burning.

_Do I even want to know? This is going to end badly either way._

His first reaction would have been to jump and flee, but somehow with the combination of exhaustion and surprisingly rational thinking, he stopped that impulse. He didn't move a muscle. Startling whoever-it-was would definitely draw unwanted attention to the situation, or possibly get him slapped. A few moments later, he dared to open his eyes and face his fear. The first thing he saw was Serah's frazzled pink hair, close enough to tickle his cheek.

_Phew! I might survive. But now I feel just… wrong._

Hope tried to carefully inch sideways without waking her up. He could feel her heartbeat against his chest, among other things, and he hated his left arm for existing at all, as it was trapped beneath her in the worst possible way – there didn't seem to be any place to put it that wasn't awkward. He attempted to slide it out, but that seemed to make Serah latch onto him more tightly in her sleep and pull herself even farther on top of him. Fortunately, her movement freed his unlucky arm, but all he could do at that point was drape it across her back and try to ignore the alarms ringing in his head about the position, no matter how peaceful she seemed. He was sure he was going to hyperventilate if he didn't do something.

_It's just Serah, moron. No need to get worked up. _

Hope's attention was mercifully diverted when she sniffled and he felt tears drip onto his neck. He guessed she was having a nightmare, and after all she had been through, he was afraid to know just what was making her cry. It didn't seem fair at all to let her suffer in the realm of her subconscious, so he decided to wake her whether she would panic or not.

"Serah," he whispered, taking hold of her left hand where it was attached to his shoulder, "what's wrong? It's-it's okay, just wake up already."

Shivering, she jolted awake with a start. She gasped when she realised where she was, and her eyes about doubled in size once she raised her head to see Hope's worried – and, he was quite certain, still flushed – face right there. She immediately scrambled to lift herself up and brought a hand to her mouth.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to! I didn't know—" she stammered, breathless and redfaced.

_She cuddles in her sleep? Go figure._

"Forget it," Hope said quietly, grinning. He shifted out from under her, propped his elbow and rested his head on his hand. "Guess your night was about as pleasant as mine. Yuj kicked me out of the other tent hours ago – apparently we were being too loud and attracted a behemoth. And I don't mean Yuj himself, though now that I think about it..."

Serah snorted as she lay back down on her stomach, but she still looked pretty flustered. "Sounds just peachy. I didn't mean to be… invasive, but I must've been dreaming again."

"About what?" Hope asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

Her eyes drifted away, and she blushed even more deeply. "Memories. The kind that make you happy and sad at the same time, you know."

_Glad she wasn't reliving creepy stuff from R & D, at least. But I think I have a good idea what – or who – she was dreaming about._

Hope could've left it at that and kept his suspicions to himself, but for whatever reason he had a mean streak going. He smirked mischievously.

"You dream about Snow pretty often, don't you? I haven't seen you two together yet, but I bet it gets all gooey and romantic. Or at least really cuddly."

"I—" she started, her reply stuck in her throat. Her face looked just like a strawberry, and Hope wanted terribly to laugh at how adorable it was. Finally, she couldn't take it anymore and turned abruptly onto her side to face away.

"I didn't do anything to you, did I?" she whispered.

_Now look what you've caused, genius. It was just an accident._

Promptly, Hope felt like a jerk. "What? No, of course not! Lots of people cuddle in their sleep, and it was cold anyway, and I— I shouldn't have teased you about it."

Serah still refused to turn back around, but she replied, "I guess that's true. I think I'm going to try and sleep some more though, if that's okay. Just wake me up if I start to 'cuddle' or anything like that, alright?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Hope said at her back, tugging her arm. "Serah, c'mon, look at me for a sec."

Serah finally did give in and roll over to face him, her eyes watering again. She swiped her hand over them and sniffed, "I knew it was a bad idea."

"You couldn't sleep, could you? Isn't that why you came over here?" Hope asked, trapping her cold hands between them in his gloves. When she nodded and seemed to be warming up, he explained, "I really was just teasing you about the dreams and the cuddling and stuff. I got startled when I woke up and wasn't alone, that's all. Don't feel bad about it."

_I can bend the truth a bit. Hormones are stupid – reasoning easily trumps them._

"Okay," she whispered, looking unsure. "You know it's still going to cause a big stink when everyone gets up."

Hope shrugged and yawned. "Screw them. I'm going back to sleep for at least another couple of hours. You with me?"

"Yeah," Serah said with a tiny smile. "But while we're on this subject, there's something I really should tell you."

A little apprehensive about that remark, Hope still tried to sound nonchalant when he replied, "Sure, fire away." He only became more nervous when she leaned in close to his ear to say it.

"I know _you_ dream about my sister. Maybe not last night, but on a regular basis."

_Well, that settles it. I'm not long for this world. Slowly dying of mortification…_

"How?" he whispered, despite his better judgment to close his mouth and avoid digging a deeper grave.

Serah backed off and ruffled his hair. "You talk in your sleep, silly."

* * *

**Endnote: Just wanted to give a shout-out to the constant readers (Tracez, SanctumAsylum, Dragongirl323, Jacinth Joy) and a couple of much appreciated anonymous reviewers out there, one 'livi' and the other 'TT', for taking the time to drop a note last chapter. It was really encouraging :D**


	14. Replaced

**A/N: And THIS one comes a little early, courtesy of having extra time to write ahead while I waited on the edit for last chapter ;) My beta-roomie really enjoyed it, so I'm taking that as a good sign! Her remarks ran the gamut – one particular pair of notes, literally within a sentence of each other, summed up the majority of her comments: "oh god ALL THE ADORABLE in the world" right before "annnd back to the soul-crushing sadness again :(****". I danced around quite a number of boundaries in this chapter, but hasn't that pretty much defined this whole fic? Anyway, enjoy the read, and let me know just how much in reviews XD *evil laugh***

Replaced

Hope had never been a fan of the windowless, cavelike quality of basements. He had spent the first fourteen years of his life viewing the cityscape of Palumpolum through the panoramic glass walls of his home in Felix Heights, but the standard bi-level floorplan of his and Serah's current home made sense in a ruined wilderness city. All housing at the new Guardian Corps base was half basement.

_I guess holing up in the ground was the smart thing to do for Pulsians, given the wildlife here. _

"I'm thinking this room could really use a remodel," Hope suggested, a gloved hand on his chin as he looked over the dusty, functionless space below the main floor. Its only use since they had moved into the place nearly a year before was to store Snow's crystal statue, which made the basement feel like some sort of shrine. In truth, it creeped Hope out.

"What would you like most, Serah?"

He heard her feet scuff the floor where she stood at the top of the stairs. Tentatively, Serah finally ventured halfway down.

"I don't know, Hope," she said quietly, holding her arm in that way she always adopted when she was nervous or afraid to intrude. "I thought you might want to turn it into a workshop here, so you wouldn't have to spend all your time at the hangar. Not that I have a problem with it – you can do whatever you want, but… this is your home, too. You should have some space to yourself."

Hope shook his head and climbed to her at the halfway point on the stairs, standing a step lower but on level with her eyes when he replied, "I told you before – I have more space than I know what to do with, and plenty of room to work in the hangar. Someday, sooner than you think, this will be a home for you and Snow and your family. If we're going to be remodeling, it should be for what that family can use."

"Don't say that like you won't be around anymore," Serah quietly remarked, more at the floor than at him. She looked up with glassy eyes and hugged him close, almost upsetting their balance on the stairs. "Just… don't."

_Wow, she must be having a rough day or something. Did they lose another relapse patient at the clinic? I'll figure it out before long._

Hope thought it best to concede. "Alright, I won't. I didn't mean it like that anyway, but I am serious about making this room really useful. Would you like to split it into two more bedrooms, or turn it into a sitting area, or maybe set up a kitchen—?"

"A kitchen!" Serah exclaimed, suddenly jumping back in excitement at the thought – so much so that it seemed a bit forced. "Do you really think it's possible to make this place into a kitchen?"

"Absolutely. I'll talk to the guys about it this week, for sure." Hope smiled for her and led her back up the stairs from the foreboding basement to the front landing. As he gave her another hug and started to head out the door for the day, he stopped mid-stride.

"Serah," he began, hanging onto the doorframe, "is there anything different going on today? Or are you worried about something?"

She paused halfway through tightening her sneaker laces but did not look up. "Nothing important, really."

"Okay, well… Promise you'll tell me later?" Hope asked insistently as he stared her down, knowing she could see him begging with his eyes in her periphery. He refused to leave unanswered.

Eventually, Serah sighed and smiled over at him. "Fine. I'll try to remember that."

* * *

Their conversation sat stewing in the back of Hope's mind for the rest of the day.

It played over in his head while he walked down the stone streets of the nameless Pulsian city, one that had been undiscovered until a year and a half before. Many months of labor had gradually transformed the ruin into a new military base. Just like every other day on his way to the hangar, Hope watched in wonder as buildings that seemed barely salvageable continued to be developed into housing units, storage buildings, barracks, and even some business establishments to serve the growing civilian community.

It wasn't just military dependents anymore. A steady trickle of other citizens from the settlement had been making the new location their home – particularly those who feared quarantine from eventual relapse after having recovered from the first stage of the Focus strain virus. They were seeking out the remaining Guardian Corps presence that controlled the western border of the original colony, and gathering in small groups to be covertly shipped away. The more progress was made on construction and renovation at the new base, the more space became available.

_They've done so much, so fast – and with so little. I was just happy to have a real home with furniture and a workspace again, and Serah couldn't wait to get back into medical research. I still think she rushed it, though._

Picturing the little clinic in his mind, Hope remembered how excited she had been to put on scrubs after such a long break. She had eagerly joined the new team of doctors and researchers that Ann brought together, diving into lab work and a new project that he knew very little about, other than its connection to the virus.

But Hope had seen the way Serah's hands trembled when she tied her shoes that first morning before going to the clinic. He hadn't been surprised when she came home with her left hand wrapped in bandages after she accidentally cut herself with the scalpel, her blue eyes fiery with indignation over the slip-up. She wouldn't acknowledge that she hadn't been ready then. Now, eight months later, Hope wondered just how far her courage had taken her.

_Maybe it wouldn't hurt to try asking again – not that she'd admit the struggles if she could help it. I bet she'd paint the same rosy picture that she always does when I ask about work._

Stepping into the hangar's open east entrance, Hope was immediately greeted by Sazh's cheerful morning voice.

"Hey! What took you so long, Hope?" Sazh called across the massive room. "Snooze the alarm again?"

Hope laughed and jogged over to where the pilot sat at the top of _Bartholomew_'s lowered ramp, looking at several pages of diagrams for the transport. He plopped down next to his trainer.

"Serah's my alarm, remember? She's kind of impossible to snooze."

"Don't talk about Miss Serah like that, boy," Sazh scolded, whacking Hope over the head with a rolled schematic. "If I didn't think she'd have a breakdown or somethin' without you over there, you'd be living with me. No two ways about it – you're gettin' too old for the one-bedroom setup with her."

"Hey, I've offered to take the couch about a thousand times, but she won't have it… every once in a while she has those nightmares, you know? And if you're really that concerned, she's invited you guys to just live with us since day one." Hope pulled the old turquoise bandanna from his pocket, tying it over his head as he added, "Dajh comes by after school almost every day, anyway."

Sazh continued to pore over the thick paper in his hands as though he hadn't heard, but eventually he explained, "Well I can't speak for Dajh, but I've been running a crazy flight schedule since the day we moved in. You know good an' well it makes more sense for me to keep a 'pad' at the observation tower and still return most nights to my own place, where my son has his own room. Let's just say it encourages me to leave work when I've got a home to get back to. I'm Dajh's father – I should be the one takin' care of him. I refuse to toss that responsibility on Serah, and I know that's what would happen if we all crammed into the same place. She had a solid year o' that already."

_Sure she did. It was fun, though, for what it's worth._

"I guess I see where you're coming from," Hope replied. He wondered, not for the first time, exactly what it had been that kept his own father from being encouraged to come home to his family – or if he had simply been unable to escape the demands of his job. Things had changed so much since then that it hardly mattered anymore. The only certainty was that if Bartholomew Estheim had survived somewhere out there, and they managed to find him, he would be coming home to a very different son.

Still following that train of thought, Hope asked suddenly, "So, did you hear a report from the last survey mission? I know they were supposed to get back pretty late last night."

"Nope, haven't heard a thing yet," Sazh said in his guarded manner, standing to move into the main cabin with the schematics. "You know they'll get word to you immediately if they do find that evacuation ship, right? It's the NORA guys, after all. I kinda expected you to be tellin' _me_ what they've turned up lately, not the other way around."

Hope shrugged, belying the sting he actually felt when he thought about how little he'd seen of his friends in recent weeks; it was something he needed to fix. He said casually, "I would, but I haven't heard much from the guys lately. The Corps has them all set up with different teams doing so much training and so many projects that I don't hear from them unless I hang out at the Vestige on a Friday night. And I don't always have the time."

Hope pushed himself up from the ramp and walked down it, heading straight for the tool belt he had last used in the mechanical space. He saw the writing on the wall for his day in Sazh's schematics. The sooner he got started rewiring power to the new landing thrusters on _Bartholomew_, the better.

"Sounds like you really oughtta take a day off," Sazh called out from the ship, but Hope simply continued along his path. When he eventually returned to the ramp with his tools secured around his waist, he looked up to see that Sazh was still waiting for a response.

Tightening the knot on the back of his bandanna, Hope said flatly, "There's too much post-mission maintenance that will have to be done on the new transport when they bring it in later, and I already have to take Tuesdays for advanced weapons mods and Thursdays for weapons combat training. The break can wait."

Sazh did not look convinced. As the pilot prepared to refute his claim, Hope had to admit that the idea of a break sounded like just the thing for Serah's newest rut predicament. He was sure she would never agree to taking off work, but he found himself wishing he could at least help by breaking up her routine.

Suddenly, a perfect plan struck him.

"Well, you say that now—" Sazh began, likely ready for a full-on intervention.

Hope immediately raised a silencing hand. "Wait, Sazh – I do have a favor to ask. It's not for a day off, but there's something I'd like to do that might give me a little reprieve."

Suspicious yet willing to consider any change in his protégé's stubborn attitude, Sazh crossed his arms and asked, "What kind of favor are we talkin'?"

"It's a simple one, I promise. Could I just borrow the ship tonight – you know, take it out for a spin?" Hope requested innocently. "I swear I won't make it a habit."

"I don't know 'bout that," Sazh said warily, tapping his boot. "You've never asked for something like this before. I'm not concerned about your flying – I mean, you've taken this ship on around fifty solo trips already – but I gotta know the motive, here. Tell me why, and I'll think about it."

_Ugh, why? Guess it's not as risky to tell Sazh as it is telling Maqui this sort of stuff; the man is anything but a gossip. I must be the only person close enough to realise that Serah's not okay, and I think that's the way she wants it._

Looking down at the floor, Hope stuffed his hands into his pockets. "I want to take Serah for a ride in the ship, that's all. She was acting kind of down this morning, so I thought it might cheer her up, or at least get her to tell me what's going on. Just— please don't tell her I said anything."

Sazh seemed to be in deep thought while he considered the explanation. He stared off toward some point in the distance before he finally replied, "I think I have an idea why she's feelin' down today. You know what day it is, Hope?"

"Not the date, but it's a Wednesday, and it's June— I think," Hope stammered, clueless about where Sazh was going. "What's so important about today?"

"Well, today is June eighth. 'Course it's the twenty-third that's really unforgettable, since that's the anniversary of Cocoon's landing, but don't you remember what was goin' on a couple weeks before that, even before we got branded? We were all in the same place that night." Sazh simply stood back and waited for the lights to come on behind Hope's eyes, and he didn't have to wait long. Hope gasped when the realisation hit him.

_The Bodhum Fireworks Festival. We all watched it, we all wished… And for Serah, that town was her home. Where was she that night, anyway? I never asked her._

Shaking his head from the daze, Hope muttered, "I can't believe I forgot about the festival. It really does make sense now…" After another few seconds of gathering his thoughts, he came back to his original goal. "So does this mean you'll let me use the ship? I think it might give Serah a chance to reminisce or something. Anything's better than seeing her looking sad and burying herself in work."

Sazh tossed one of his rolled schematics to Hope. "Just get those landing thrusters to a hundred percent, and I have no problem letting the ship go for tonight." He grinned as he added, "You've got a midnight curfew though, understand?"

"Yeah. I'll have the ship docked way before then." Hope smiled to himself, plotting additional details for the night and relieved that there was something he could do to potentially fix Serah's problem. As he ran up the ramp and into the ship, he called in passing, "You're a lifesaver, Sazh!"

* * *

"These chemicals just aren't working well together."

Serah considered, somewhere in the back of her mind, that such incompatibility in repeated experiments with the trial compound could have been the product of her own distraction. At least she hoped that was the case.

_Three years. Has it really been that much time? Even long-distance engagements involve communication and occasional contact, but this is like being with a comatose patient. It's indefinite suspension, waiting to be let down. What exactly am I supposed to be celebrating today?_

She tore her tired eyes away from the microscope, feeling vaguely nauseous. In spite of the practiced numbness that set in whenever she worked in the lab, her stomach would occasionally twist up if she slipped and allowed herself to dwell on the fact that she was handling her own extracted blood. Or, technically speaking, a derivative of her blood – a liquid of the isolated proteins responsible for her viral immunity mixed with other stabilizing substances.

That mixture was the main ingredient in a new antiviral treatment. So far, it had proven compatible with all but a single patient in its trial run, making it more than worth the trouble to develop. Serah was glad for that, and for more reasons than just its use in saving others' lives. In a way, the efforts toward its creation had saved her. Over months of clinical research and testing, she had forced herself to adapt in the medical facility – to face the fears that tried to travel with her when they had fled the settlement. And her labors had paid off, slowly but surely.

She wasn't afraid anymore. Not of needles, or blood, or anything related to the work of a medic. The closest she came to any measurable fear was a lingering aversion to white latex gloves, which was easily solved with her use of blue-green ones.

She bent over the counter to scribble a few notes in her logbook about the new compound's reaction to the antiviral chemicals. It wouldn't be a suitable carrier for a preemptive treatment, given its fickle record of stabilizing and destabilizing the proteins on a whim. That was one more potential solution scratched from a shrinking list. The only thing shorter than that list, in Serah's mind, was the time they had left to make a leap in progress.

_I can't deny it,_ Serah thought. _I am still afraid of something_.

Serah closed the book. As hard as she tried to ignore the nagging doubt, that only seemed to intensify her concentration toward it. She hated to admit it to herself, but she could never shake the two growing, interconnected fears that were both her drive and her downfall. They were unaltered by her diligent medical work, impervious to anything she could achieve, and she was terrified of them – of failure and loneliness. One would inevitably bring about the other, she knew, but even without considering her own shortcomings, she had felt the effects of that second fear more strongly over the days leading up to the eighth of June.

_And here it is, today. I can't see much use in celebrating that another year came and went, but nothing changed. There's my fiancé, just downstairs, but I can't hear his voice, or touch him, or kiss him… I've never even gone beyond kissing him. What if I never get the chance?_

Serah stripped the latex gloves from her hands, casting them into a bin on the way out of the laboratory. She passed quietly through the clinic's reception area and waved casually in Ann's direction.

"Have a good night, dear," the doctor called out to her, and Serah smiled cheerfully anyway. She hoped that her eyes didn't give her away. It wasn't that she wanted to cry, but she knew the void sucking in her happiness was probably visible to those who looked too closely.

_And Hope will want to know why – he'll see it in a heartbeat. He won't forget that I promised to tell him what was going on, either. What should I even say?_

Serah spent the entire walk home battling with that dilemma. Composure had always been her guiding principle, and Hope was always happier when she was happy – she concluded that there was no need to spread the misery. By the time she reached the front door, the lamp was shining outside and she had decided on a course of action. She could blame her mood on a series of failed experiments in the lab trials. That was at least partly true.

Of course, her plans were smashed to bits the moment she stepped inside.

"Serah!" Hope exclaimed as he pounced from the landing in a flash and trapped her in a smothering hug. "I have a surprise for you!"

"Something… besides the… sneak attack?" she choked out breathlessly. It did surprise her when she actually laughed – both because of her melancholy disposition and how difficult it was to breathe.

Clearly hearing her struggle, he backed off to hold onto her arms but maintained the wide grin. "Yeah, well… that doesn't count, but I think you'll love the real surprise! Get changed – we're going out for a little while."

"Out?" Serah asked suspiciously, glancing down at her watch and really beginning to wonder if he had a legitimate crazy streak going. "You usually come home and collapse before dinner. Where's this energy coming from, all the sudden?"

Hope started pulling her by the hand through the living room, oblivious to her skepticism. "Second wind, I guess. Don't worry about it, just change into something comfy. I'll be back in a few minutes." With that, he left her at the bedroom door and rushed out of the house in a flurry.

_Comfy? Guess we aren't dropping by the Vestige, though that would be pretty weird for a Wednesday anyway. Where else is there to go this late?_

Shrugging, Serah dragged herself across the bedroom to the dresser. She dug around in the drawer beneath Hope's and finally pulled out a pair of thin sweatpants and some light blue tank top that Lebreau had given her – that seemed the epitome of comfy. By the time she had kicked off her scrubs and pulled on the sweats, she heard the sound of a velocycle engine just outside.

"At least we're not walking," she muttered to herself, tugging the tank top down and shuffling back into the living room. She promptly flopped onto the couch, shoes and all.

She had just closed her eyes when Hope burst through the front door and was suddenly hovering over her. He hauled her up to her feet, spun her around and gently covered her eyes with his hands.

"Can I trust you not to peek?" he asked, "Or are you going to fall asleep if I make you keep your eyes shut?"

Serah took a deep, tired breath. "I think I can handle it. But what's all this about? You haven't pulled any stunts in a long time, Hope – at least not since my birthday, and I'm still recovering from the Great Raspberry Fountain incident. Sure, it was delicious, but Lebreau had to shut down the Vestige for the whole weekend because of the flooding. And all of our clothes from that day were stained blue!"

Laughing, he just nudged her forward and replied, "Ah, priceless memories. You're well aware that it wouldn't be a surprise if I told you what I was doing, though. Where's the fun in that?"

"Oh, forget it. I promise I'll close my eyes, just concentrate on driving safe, okay?"

"No problem, but I'm holding you to that promise," Hope said, uncovering her eyes to guide her by the shoulders to the velocycle outside. "And don't worry – this isn't going to take all night."

_Why do I always give in? I could've said I'm too tired, or I have a big day tomorrow…_

Serah knew, despite her thoughts, that there was a single reason why. With every consecutive thing Hope had ever asked of her, she had always said yes, and each time she went away feeling it had been worth it, no matter how big of a disaster it may have become in the end – be it by explosion, or colossal mess, or just plain embarrassment. That may well have been because he always tried so hard and looked so pleased when she laughed or thanked him, regardless of the outcome.

Whatever the case, the effect was such that she didn't even consider saying no to him anymore. She was just too willing to experience anything but the endless wait, and she wanted no regrets.

Sighing, Serah tried again to guess at his purpose when he helped her onto the velo and sat in front of her. "Can't I even have a hint?" she asked.

"Nope. But you'd better hold on tight." She heard Hope crank the ignition and immediately latched onto his waist.

It was impossible for Serah to gather any information on the trip to their destination while she doggedly kept her promise. The summer air had just begun to cool down as darkness fell, and she could smell some of the late flowering plants along the way and hear the large variety of Pulsian locusts chirping, but none of that clued her in on anything. No longer inclined to guess, she just breathed in the powdery detergent scent of Hope's shirt and thought about how she needed to do laundry on Saturday.

_Two sets of scrubs left – just enough to make it till then. Then again, if Hope's wearing jeans it probably means his cargo pants are all done for._

After they had parked and Hope cut the engine, she heard the clinking of keys, expecting him to open a door to their final destination, but they remained out in the open and simply walked through the unimpeded breeze for another minute. It was only after feeling the slight bounce to an inclined surface of metal under her feet that she realised what was going on.

"Hope," Serah began, firmly planting herself in place on the ramp, "Why are we at the transport? Are we really going that far away?" She still kept her eyes tightly shut, though she knew exactly where they were.

Exhaling heavily beside her, Hope muttered, "I don't know why I even try for surprises." She felt him move around to stand in front of her. He took her hands and pulled her the last step into the flat-floored cabin.

"Go ahead and open your eyes."

Serah finally blinked, letting her vision adjust to the darkness inside the ship. Hope smiled and waved a hand in front of her face for good measure, his glowing, excited expression already back in place, obvious even under the meager light drifting through the open entryway.

"Coming to the transport wasn't the surprise, was it?" Serah asked, bemused.

He shrugged and led her through the cabin toward the cockpit. "Not really, I just didn't want you speculating all the way here."

They climbed up front and strapped into the pilot and copilot seats, Serah watching intently as Hope adjusted several settings on the dash in preparation for takeoff. Shortly, she heard the cabin hatch close and the rushing sound of the thrusters warming up, and before she knew it, they had lifted into the air and blasted off through the night.

Serah sank back into her seat, staring out at the starry sky beyond the dash.

_Maybe this was worth the time, after all._

* * *

"We're here," Hope announced, not entirely surprised when Serah did not answer or even show signs of awareness. He stood to unstrap her harness and lightly shook her shoulder.

Scowling in her sleep, Serah eventually twisted around in the seat so uncomfortably that she woke herself. She squinted in the glare of the lights on the dash, rubbing her eyes.

"Where is here, Hope?" she asked with a yawn.

Hope chuckled to himself at how childlike she seemed upon waking, not that he would have told her. He just went about powering off the ship before he helped her up and explained, "You'll see in a minute."

They climbed out of the cockpit and picked their way through the dark cabin to its open entrance. From where they stood at the top of the ramp near the edge of a sheer cliff, the landscape suddenly stretched out below them, visible for miles under a large Pulsian moon. Two other points of light stood out from the dark forests and plains – the Guardian Corps base held its own presence of tiny, twinkling lamps just to the northwest, and Cocoon was a single, sharp glimmer like a star hovering due north at the horizon.

Even more beautifully, white ripples shone across a small lake hidden among the trees directly beneath the plateau on which they had landed. Most personnel on base knew the lake existed as a water source, but it was too far downriver for casual visits and surrounded by dangerous wildlife. Hope had only stumbled upon its location and the overlooking plateau by chance during one of his rounds as a new pilot for the supply teams.

When Serah's mouth dropped open at the sight of it all, he knew he had made the right choice in bringing her there.

"This place is amazing," she said in awe, staring out at the scenery and not moving a muscle, as if that might break it to pieces. Just then, she didn't appear to have a worried thought in her head – no more than a child seeing the ocean for the first time.

_Talk about a wonder. I didn't think that expression was possible on Serah._

Hope stood next to her at the top of the ramp for a long minute, possibly more, before daring to say a word. When at last he felt too antsy with the silence, he said very quietly, "Maybe you should— I mean, wouldn't you like to sit down? We can stay here as long as you want."

Gradually, Serah came round from her trance and turned to him with a painfully sad smile. "Why did you bring me here? I'm not naïve enough to think it was on some whim of yours – not this time."

Fidgeting nervously with the hem of his t-shirt, Hope could only bite his lip. She'd gotten to the point much faster than he wanted.

"Wait here," he said at length, moving quickly but carefully into the dark ship, toward the storage room. He returned to her carrying what appeared to be a bundle of thin, identical sticks.

Hope held out two of the foot-long sticks toward her, asking shyly, "Just hold onto these for me, okay?"

"Um, sure," she agreed. She looked confused and wary, but took them anyway, holding the pair of flimsy sticks a good bit away from herself to inspect them with narrowed eyes. "Hope, what are these things?"

_For not having a clue, you sure are holding them exactly right._

After he had dug around in his jeans pocket and turned up the sought-after object, he just smiled again and instructed, "Close your eyes one more time, and I'll show you."

Serah didn't question or protest that ridiculous-sounding request, instead sighing as she closed her eyes. Hope wasted no time in striking one of the matches he'd procured to hold its flame under the tips of the sticks. They caught fire as mere specks of glowing orange, but in seconds those two embers suddenly burst into a spray of white light and sparks. The sound and brightness made Serah jump – her eyes automatically shot open. She gasped, frozen again in wide-eyed amazement, along with a measure of fear.

"Wh-what am I supposed to do?" she squeaked nervously, thrusting the crackling sticks as far from her body as possible. "Isn't this—I don't know, dangerous?"

Hope let out a short chuckle, but he could see she was legitimately afraid. He took one of them from her and waved it in front of himself in a smooth figure-eight, explaining calmly, "Sparklers are probably the safest fireworks you can use, unless you do stupid things with them, like hold them next to flammable stuff or wave them right at someone's hair. Just have fun with it before it burns out, alright?"

Serah tightened her mouth in determination, turning the sparkler in small, careful circles. When the sparks finally sputtered and died, Hope caught a glimpse of her gloomy expression before the light was absent and her face shadowed by her bangs.

"Fireworks," she said softly, still looking down at the dead sparkler. "So you remembered what day it was."

Shame settled on Hope like a shroud. "I wish I'd remembered sooner. Sazh had to tell me what day it was, since I can't seem to keep track of time." He offered Serah another sparkler, which she hesitantly took in place of the spent one.

"I know it's nothing like the Bodhum display," he pressed on, lighting another match and watching the bright shower in front of her. "Dad said the Sanctum actually outlawed handheld fireworks like sparklers back when he was a kid, but most people didn't care when the big shows got popular. Hey, try writing your name in the air, like this."

Hope lit a new sparkler for himself and waved it rapidly in the cursive strokes of his name. The writing didn't hang in the air for any amount of time, but its impression was caught behind his eyes, and he smiled in satisfaction when he could see his name inside of his closed eyelids.

Turning to watch Serah, he found that she was staring curiously at him, not moving her sparkler at all before it fizzled out again. As it did, he saw tears.

_Oh no, what have I gone and done? I've made it worse!_

The instant his own sparkler went out, she latched onto him for dear life and buried her face in his shoulder. Hope wasn't sure whether to think it a good or a bad development, but he felt some of the tightness in his chest release. He had not seen Serah cry in a very long time.

"Hey, it's okay," he said, lowering them both to sit at the top of the ramp. "I shouldn't have brought all of this up, huh?"

Serah shook her head adamantly, sniffling as she protested, "No, no, it's a good thing. I didn't want to deal with any of this, ever since I started thinking about it last week. But now it's just— eating at me."

_Maybe this is more serious than I thought._

"So… you want to talk about it now?" Hope ventured cautiously. He was becoming more suspicious that nostalgia and sadness over her lost hometown was not the real issue.

She hurriedly swiped the tears from her face and asked, "You want the truth?"

That cinched it. Serah's tone seemed foreign and far too cold, like the tone she might have taken to inform a dead patient's family of the news. For a fleeting moment, Hope was afraid to know the truth.

He swallowed once, and answered anyway, "Yeah, I do."

"Well, the truth," she began in the strangely blank voice, leaning against his shoulder, "is so simple it's stupid, really. The night of the fireworks was when Snow asked me to marry him, and here I am moping and crying like I haven't already spent the last two years and three-hundred sixty-four days waiting for him to wake up. Why should today be any different? I didn't make a big fuss last year, and now I really don't get why…"

Her voice was painful to hear. It didn't even carry a hint of emotion, like it had all eroded away. It wasn't mournful, or despairing, or desperate. It was defeated.

Hope was stunned, but he eventually managed to speak his mind. "What do you mean, 'why'? Isn't it obvious? You miss him, and another anniversary just makes you dwell on—"

"That's not it," she interrupted quietly, almost tiredly. "I've been feeling terrible because I know I should be miserable without him – I should be falling apart, crying over memories we had. And maybe I would be, if I even remembered much. But I don't. And that's the awful truth, Hope. I can't really remember what his laugh sounded like anymore, or exactly how he smiled. I try and try, but I can't remember, and now I'm scared that he's going to wake up and be a stranger to me. He deserves better than that, but I don't know how to fix it."

To say that Hope was shocked would be a shameful understatement. Of all the things he had expected Serah to pour out of her soul, that confession was not anywhere close.

"H-how long has this been bugging you?" Hope asked after a heavy silence. He was growing steadily more apprehensive, but there really wasn't anywhere to go but forward – and hopefully back around to a solution.

"I'm not sure," she went on, her voice still hollow. "Maybe it wasn't just for the last few days. Now that I think of it, all this started a few months ago, when I stopped having that dream about the festival. Then I stopped going into the basement. That seemed… easier. Or maybe just the right thing to do."

It cut at Hope, to hear how long she'd kept the struggle to herself. "I see," he nearly whispered. "But I don't get how you think visiting him in the basement is going to make this problem worse. Wouldn't it be better for you to spend a little time with him, even like he is, so you can revisit some of these memories you're losing?"

"_No_, Hope," Serah answered, for once with feeling. "I can't stand to see him like that anymore, when every single day I'm forgetting pieces of what he was really like. It makes it worse. So, so much worse." When her voice broke that time, Hope was relieved.

He measured his words before making the attempt to steer her in the right direction. "I don't see what you're beating yourself up about," he began slowly, hugging her into his shoulder. "It's obvious that you care enough about Snow to be terrified of losing his memory. And you know, whenever he does wake up, you'll have a very special opportunity."

Sniffling once, Serah looked up at him in confusion and asked, "What do you mean by that?"

"Oh, just that you're going to get to fall in love with him all over again. No ordinary couples get a second run at that." He smiled sweetly at her, and couldn't for the life of him understand why she burst into tears.

Not until she stammered in snatches through her sobs, "B-but he hasn't changed at all, and I'm-I'm— What if… he doesn't… want me like this?"

_Great, she would think something like that – that Snow doesn't deserve her issues after everything that happened to her. He isn't going to care. Maybe he'll bumble through it at first, but the hero I remember will never give up._

"Like what? Beautiful and smart, but a little bit older and wiser?" Hope said teasingly, dodging her true meaning. "Snow may be an idiot sometimes, but he isn't _shallow_. He's probably been dreaming about you non-stop – you'll be lucky if he doesn't pounce on you the instant he sees you! I may have to bust out the boomerang."

His little outburst made Serah start to choke out giggles. They grew and bubbled over until she was having difficulty breathing, clinging to his arm for stability.

"That wasn't… what I meant!" she spluttered, bringing herself under control after several deep breaths before she looked up with a wicked grin. "And you wouldn't be the first person to talk about Snow like that – being so protective in your cute, brotherly way might even earn you some brownie points with my sister. But you know it'll take more than that to win her over once she wakes up, even if you would prefer to be 'pounced on,' as you put it."

Hope felt like his entire body was blushing, if that was possible.

_Low blow, picking on the pining teenager._

Coughing once, he muttered, "Light would never behave like that. And besides, she isn't even here."

His words had been quiet, but they cut through the air like a blade. It killed both Serah's laughter and the conversation in one fell swoop. Neither of them spoke for a few minutes, not until Serah curled up closer to Hope's side and wrapped him in a cautious hug.

"Hope, there's something I wanted to ask you, but I thought it might make you upset if I did," she said almost inaudibly. "So do you want to know, or should I forget about it? Your choice."

He exhaled sharply through his nose, defeated by curiosity as always. "Bring it on. I'd drive myself crazy thinking about it if you didn't ask."

"Okay, then. I was just wondering," Serah said sadly, "if things went terribly wrong – not saying I believe they will, but just if they did – and for some awful reason Snow and Sis didn't ever wake up, do you think you'd stay with me?"

Hope wasn't actually surprised by the request. He'd known from living with Serah for so long that she was deathly afraid of being alone, and he highly doubted their situation would come to such an end anyway.

So to that, he replied easily, "That's a silly question. As if I'd just leave you all by yourself! I promised that I was taking care of you until Snow and Light came back, so I'm not going anywhere, not if it takes decades. Simple as that."

"Alright," Serah said against his shirt, starting to doze as she continued. "Then the least I can do is work faster to perfect a remedy for the virus. It's only a matter of time…"

As Hope watched the moon's reflection, cold and silent on the lake below, he considered his own predicament. It wasn't something he usually felt worth dwelling on, since that could do absolutely no good, but it did make him wonder for a moment whether he would be able to keep his promise – if he would live to see it happen. The simple thought of such a potential failure was giving him a headache.

_A matter of time, yes. But isn't that true for everything?_

* * *

Serah woke up in the night, squinting at the display on her watch. It was just past midnight, and she last remembered fleeting moments of consciousness between transition from the transport to the velocycle, and from the velocycle into the house.

Which explained why she was face down on her own bed. She twisted her head to the other side and saw that Hope was sleeping there as always, hugging his pillow tightly. She assumed he'd made his curfew after their evening out.

_That must've been Sazh's doing,_ she thought with a wry grin.

Suddenly, there was a muffled, foundation-shaking thud from within the house, followed by several lighter thumps in succession. Serah sat bolt upright.

"Hope," she whispered shakily, frozen with fear. "Hope, did you hear that?"

While the noise had done little but make him roll over, her voice apparently woke him. He propped himself on his elbows, blinking sleepily.

"Hear what? Is something wrong?"

Serah turned her fearful gaze on him. "Yes, s-something made a really loud crash just a second ago."

"Maybe someone came in and fell down the stairwell," Hope mumbled, throwing off the sheet to half roll out of bed. "It is right there, and it kinda looks like a regular doorway in the dark. You'd think any of our friends would have the decency to call first, though."

Standing unsteadily on his feet, he bent down to pull his boomerang out from under the bed. "I'm gonna go check it out. If it sounds like things are getting out of hand, call channel nine."

"Okay," Serah squeaked. She grabbed the communicator from the bedside table and clenched it tightly. It was hard to imagine someone breaking in, considering how little there was to take.

Through the open bedroom door, she could see Hope's dark silhouette slinking across the living room toward the stairwell, his boomerang out to his side in preparation. She curled her trembling legs beneath her and squinted through the darkness.

Heavy steps sounded on the stairs. Serah could hardly see Hope where he had flattened himself against the wall between the stairwell and the living room, waiting to spring at whoever emerged.

And it was a massive form that finally did stoop down and exit the stairwell. Serah covered her mouth to keep from crying out, her other hand still holding tight to the communicator.

Hope suddenly whipped the boomerang around the edge of the wall and into what must have been the stomach of the intruder, making the person grunt but otherwise not seeming to phase him. The dark figure promptly grabbed onto the arm Hope had used to swing the weapon and twisted it behind his back. Hope's boomerang clattered to the ground and he yelped in pain, but the intruder must have covered his mouth to muffle the sound. Serah could hear only a low, unintelligible voice and the quiet scraping sounds of Hope struggling. Her mind shouted at her frozen fingers to dial the communicator, but all her body would obey was a powerful urge to hear what was being spoken. She slipped off the bed and crept to the doorway.

_I should call – I have to, but I need to know what's going on first!_

* * *

Hope writhed and kicked under the iron grip that had snared him. He was furious, but more than that, he feared the person would have a far too easy time getting to Serah.

"Listen," a low and unforgettable voice said in his ear, "stop freakin' out and I'll let you go. I wouldn't've done anything if you didn't go swinging a stick at me. All I want is to know where the hell I am. Can ya tell me that?"

_Snow? It-it has to be! And Maker, he's crushing my wrist…_

Hope willed his body to go rigid and nodded his head emphatically at the man's request. Immediately, one giant hand was removed from his mouth while the other released his arm, and Hope stumbled forward, gasping.

"Please-please tell me it's you," he breathed to himself, turning in the dark. He took a few clumsy steps to the corner and flicked on the lamp. Both of them winced and raised an arm in the sudden light, but it was instantly clear to Hope that his guess had been correct. The white trenchcoat, black bandanna and blonde hair were more than enough. He wasn't entirely sure, though, that Snow would recognise him at seventeen, in a t-shirt and boxers with his choppy hair sticking out in every direction.

Eyes adjusting, Hope lowered his arm. "Hey, Snow— it's uh… sure been a while," he mumbled as he met Snow's unabashed expression of shock. Hope lowered his eyes to the floor.

_Great, he does know it's me. Maybe I still seem like a little boy to someone his size._

"Hope? You've gotta be kidding!" Snow said incredulously. He waved a hand at the teenager before him. "Is that even possible? You're half-grown!"

Hope rubbed at his messy hair nervously. "Yeah, about that…"

But before he could dive into an explanation of the time that had passed, they both heard the quiet shuffle of feet from across the room, and the sound of an object smacking the ground as it was dropped. Hope didn't have to turn to know what Snow had fixed his eyes upon.

* * *

Serah had never before felt, nor would she ever feel again, the level of shock that hit her when she saw Snow in the living room. There was a sensation of having the rug pulled from under her and the breathlessness of landing hard on the floor, even though she was simply standing in the doorway. Her mouth hung open, but she couldn't think of anything to say. Her head was screaming.

_Please say something to me! Anything! Smile or laugh, and maybe I'll remember it all._

"Serah?" Snow whispered, and it seemed to her that he had crossed the room in a single movement. She still couldn't breathe, but now it was because he had caught her up in an embrace. There was no immediate rush of total recollection, but something reawakened in her that she hadn't even known was asleep. The steady march of her pulse picked up to a frightening pace.

Snow said into her hair in a rush, "I love you – I've missed you so much! Not sure what's going on here, but I'm just happy you woke up!"

_What… should I do?_

If she had been accustomed to the warmth of Hope's nearness, she was a bit overwhelmed by the heat of Snow's entire being, suddenly alive and awake and engulfing her. She made a feeble attempt to hug him back – nearly impossible with her arms mostly trapped – and pressed her ear to the heartbeat pounding beneath his trenchcoat like a drum.

In response to her silence, Snow quickly released her, but he went on staring with his ice-blue eyes that begged to be answered.

Serah regained her wits a few moments later and fought to find words. "Snow, I-I've missed you too. And I guess I should tell you first… umm… what I'm trying to say is, Happy Anniversary. It's been a-a crazy three years."

"Three _years_?" Snow exclaimed. He held his head as if it might shoot off his shoulders from such mind-blowing news, but a moment later he slowly turned to look at Hope's fairly tall form leaning against the wall.

Hope just stretched and explained, "See, it wasn't impossible. I've had lots of time to do some growing."

"No kidding," Snow said at length, scratching his head in clinging bewilderment, but he perked up and grinned when he looked back at Serah. "Oughtta be grateful it wasn't three hundred, right? You're even more beautiful than I remember – all the change I'm seein' is that your hair got longer."

Blushing inexplicably, Serah grabbed onto her braid and replied, "Well, yes." It felt as if she was in a daze, and she began to wonder if the entire situation was an odd sort of dream – the kind in which the dreamer can only talk and move in labored, sluggish patterns. Thankfully, Hope seemed to interpret her floundering as a cue to take over before it got worse.

He walked around and flopped onto the couch stomach-first, propping his chin on the arm rest before remarking casually, "I don't know about you guys, but I'm going to sleep. Calling everyone for a grand reunion can wait a few hours. I'll set my watch alarm, okay Serah?"

"O-okay," she stammered, confused. "But you— don't you want your pillow or something?"

"Don't worry about it. Sleep in however long you want – I'll call Ann in the morning. And if I hear your alarm go off in there, I'm taking your watch and hiding it, understand?" Hope held the two of them in his sleepy gaze and smiled knowingly.

Of course, Serah knew he was serious about the watch alarm, but it was still hard to take him seriously with that look on his face. Snow seemed to have caught on to some mischief behind Hope's expression, though, and he smothered a laugh.

A moment later, Hope turned his back to them and curled his long frame onto the couch, yawning as he said, "See you in the morning."

Serah remained frozen in place. It suddenly dawned on her what would be possible, or even expected, with Hope ducking out of the scene and Snow being that close to her. She couldn't block him off in his own space like she did with Hope – the very thought left her feeling nervous and unprepared at best.

"Serah," Snow said quietly as he lifted her chin to look her in the eyes, "what's wrong? I'm still kinda lost about everything right now, but— whatever it is, just talk to me."

"It's-it's nothing. We really should get some sleep." She looked away and took him by the hand to lead him into the bedroom, closing the door behind them. Her first move was almost instinctive – she crossed to the bed, picked up Hope's pillow, and went back to the door.

One hand on the doorknob, Serah said, "Just… make yourself comfortable. I'll be right back." With that, she closed Snow in the bedroom and leaned against the outside of the door, squeezing the pillow tightly. She took several deep breaths before she even dared walk to the couch.

"Hope," she whispered, kneeling beside his head. "Like it or not, I've got your pillow here, so look at me for a second."

Slowly – and with reluctance – he did turn over, but the appearance of his green eyes in the lamplight seemed somewhere between scornful and pleading.

"Serah, what are you doing? You should— I don't know, go be a good fiancée or something. I'm really trying to stay out of this. And I couldn't care less about the pillow!"

"Well take it anyway!" She shoved it in his face and shifted to sit flat on the floor, hugging her knees. "I think I'm going to hyperventilate if I go back in there."

Hope adjusted his pillow and rolled his eyes at her, scoffing as he lay back down, "That's ridiculous. Now go, before you hurt Snow's feelings. I can't say I know him all that well, but I do know he's an honest guy who likes honest answers, so I suggest you straight up tell him what's bugging you. Do you really believe he would ever do anything to upset you?"

"No," Serah nearly whispered. "I know he wouldn't, but..."

_But it's safer here._

Sighing, Hope signaled for her to come nearer, as if he were about to tell her a bit of secret advice. Serah still found it strange how much he gave away with his eyes, but once she had actually leaned closer, Hope simply reached around and tugged the end of her braid. It was only after he began combing out the weave with his fingers that she realised he'd pulled the hairband loose.

"There," he said once the braid was out, grinning in smug satisfaction. "Now what's your excuse, lady? You've got a lovestruck hero waiting for you."

Serah couldn't help but laugh. He was right – she was being ridiculous. She kissed Hope's forehead and got to her feet to leave.

Just before she opened the bedroom door again, she turned and said softly, "Thank you, Hope. Sweet dreams."

"Working on it," he replied.

* * *

Of course, that was assuming he could get to sleep. Hope wasn't having the easiest time.

_Lucky you, Serah – you don't have to dream anymore. I've got a while longer, though._

He didn't have anything against couches, and he hadn't heard a single disturbing sound from Serah or Snow, but sleep remained elusive. He lay staring at the worn stone ceiling, alone with his thoughts.

_This is it, I guess. I'm going to be doing my own thing twenty-four seven from now on – sleeping, working, eating, laundry, even spending free time… by myself._

Until that moment, being so independent and undisturbed had always seemed a pleasant concept – a goal, even. Now that Hope found himself in that very position, he saw the downside. A gaping hole was already forming where Serah had filled a number of needs. She had covered his invisible, sucking chest-wound for so long that he'd forgotten it was only a temporary patch. Inevitably, it had to be removed, one corner at a time.

Hope couldn't breathe right as a result.

_She doesn't need me anymore. It's better, though – it has to be better that I kept half of my promise before I had the chance to fail. _

Stealthily, sleep finally dropped him spiraling into the abyss, and the ceiling was nowhere to be found. Hope still smiled in the darkness, though, knowing that even in his worst nightmares of fiends both real and imaginary, Lightning would show herself. It was worth that fleeting second – that single glimpse of her.

* * *

**Endnote: So my beta hasn't had the time to go writing her humorous endnotes like before, but there were a few comments that she made on my draft that were so hilarious I felt they had to be shared, so here they are in the exact, sarcastic words she used (with context, and not with spoilers now that you've read the chapter!):**

**(beginning scene with Hope in the basement) – "In a startling character shift, Hope decides to side with all the fangirls who are convinced he's gay and in love with Snow and actively tries to fulfill the "interior decorator" stereotype, with mixed results :P – j/k I actually like these"**

**(when Hope mentioned needing to 'fix' the communication problem with his friends) – "I SEE WHAT YOU DID THERE :P oh Hope and his restless hands - the REAL reason he's suddenly decided to become an interior decorator"**

**(when Sazh explained the significance of the date) – "oh Hope you don't even know :( **** Seriously, ALL THE SADNESS EVER"**

**(when hints were made at Hope's previously disastrous 'surprises') – "ok seriously, WHAT HAPPENED? Was it aliens? I bet it was aliens."**

**(when Serah guessed that Hope had taken her to the transport) – "hahaha FAIL."**

**(after the description of the view from the plateau) – "I think my favorite part of this entire scene is how romantic it COULD be, but it totally isn't; it's just pure philos-love *heart*"**

**(when Hope starts to realise that Serah is upset about more than her hometown) – "wow, he totally doesn't get it, does he. -_-"**

**(at the end of the scene on the plateau, and this made me crack up) – "I predict a few of your readers will come away from this chapter shipping Serah/Hope despite themselves ****" LOL.**

**(when Hope tells Snow and Serah that he's 'going to sleep') – "to Snow: '…in your fiancee's bed. Surprise!' okay not really but seriously Snow is probably going to be irrationally jealous of Hope for a while"**

**(when Serah asks if he wants his pillow) – "see they are SO platonically married. I want jealous!Snow :P"**

**(and when Hope 'couldn't breathe right' when he felt alone) – "aww, jealous!Hope."**


	15. Don't feel

**A/N: So SO sorry about the lateness of this post! The chapter turned out quite long, craziness ensued in beta-roomie's schedule, and yeah… all around fail. But here it is, at long last. Another big thanks to all readers and reviewers so far, as we soldier on toward the not-so-distant conclusion XD Also, I have to give a shout-out to Tracez (and his girlfriend) for their contribution of a very specific idea that dominated my scene with Hope and Snow later on in the chapter – I really REALLY hope I got it right 0.0 But I'll just shut-up now and let you all read for yourselves!**

Don't feel (the same)

_Is that coffee?_

Hope breathed in the bitter, rousing aroma again. He cracked his eyes open to aim them across the room, spying Serah where she stood hovering over the pot normally reserved for tea, her hair cascading down in tangled waves.

Perplexed, he checked his watch – it wasn't quite six, well before time for his alarm.

"Serah," he mumbled, halfway sitting up as she turned abruptly toward his voice, "I thought I told you to sleep in."

She gave him a tight smile and explained, "My internal alarm is still set for five thirty. Want some coffee?"

Hope rubbed his eyes. He began to wonder if he was only dreaming that he had woken up. "But you _never_—"

"Snow likes coffee," she cut in, waving a hand to dismiss his coming accusations. "I thought it would be a nice gesture for his first day stuck on Pulse with the rest of us. Besides, you're old enough to decide for yourself about this."

"Ha!" Hope laughed and collapsed back into his pillow. "Well it looks like you _did_ remember something about him. And after you got so worked up…"

"It wasn't as simple as that!" Serah protested. She stalked over to the couch and sat down hard on Hope's stomach, knocking the breath out of him at first. But he just laughed even more at how her lightness wasn't able to make much of an impact, and the way her irritated expression bobbed up and down with every chuckle. She looked perfectly in her element to him, perched there with her arms crossed and acting very much like a puffed-up mother bird.

_The only thing like a mother I've had for a while now…_

"For your information, Hope, he had to _tell_ me he preferred coffee," she huffed, but her voice ran out of steam as the words left. Her arms fell to her lap, and she looked suddenly dejected. "Now, do you want any?"

…_and I've done it again. I've made her sad._

The all too familiar lump of guilt settled in the pit of Hope's stomach. He just couldn't fathom his own inability to stop himself from making the single comment that could take a situation from fine to uncomfortable.

"Yes, please," he said meekly, tilting his head to try and peer around the curtain of hair that had fallen in Serah's face. Not that her slumping shoulders didn't say it all.

A gloomy moment later, she stood and shuffled back to the coffee. She went through the motions of setting out mugs and pulling out the sugar and creamer – an item Hope hadn't even known they kept in the house. Then again, he also hadn't known about the coffee.

Rather than remain worthless in the tense atmosphere he'd created in the living room, Hope hurriedly got himself off the couch and rushed into the bedroom to get his things for the day. As he gathered up his coveralls from where they lay in a heap on the floor, he paused at the sight of Snow's massive frame half under the sheet and sprawled across most of the bed. He found it odd that the man wasn't sleeping on the pillow. It was just lying there on Serah's side of the bed, exactly where she always placed it.

Naturally, Snow would have refused to take it from her. It was obvious that he didn't have it in him to take anything from Serah – Hope knew Snow would probably give her the moon if she asked for it. In fact, he could give her anything she needed. That was his duty.

Hope felt an unexpected burning in his chest as the old, stitched up wounds covering his heart began to tear at the seams. Mentally blocking out that internal strain, he shoved his legs into the coveralls.

_I know you'll take better care of her, Snow. But what does that leave me to do?_

* * *

Serah flicked the communicator closed, her mind buzzing from caffeine and the unreal sensation that came with talking about, planning for and just being near her flesh-and-blood fiancé. It hadn't taken as long as she'd expected to spread the word about Snow's return. Truth be told, she had only made one phone call – to the right person.

And Maqui practically sounded the alarm. He had shouted in excitement on the communicator when she told him the news, going on and on about arrangements for a party and hanging up before she had the chance to say goodbye. The next thing she knew, all her friends had called back to express their happiness for her or wishes to attend the celebration on Friday. Even Ann had called again, despite the fact that Hope had already gotten in touch with her before he left for training – and before Serah could object. The doctor had insisted that she take a week off.

Serah wearily placed the communicator on the bedside table, taking up her coffee again. Snow was still sleeping contentedly, face-down on the mattress beside where she sat with her legs curled underneath her. His shoulders rose and fell with each slow, even breath.

_Maybe I should wake him up, before the NORA gang drops by unannounced._

"Snow?" she said softly, running cautious fingers through his splayed blonde hair, every strand thick and sturdy like the fibers used to weave a smooth rope.

That set Serah thinking about the rest of him. She felt warmth, a different sort than she could remember in a long while, bloom within her as she traced her hand along the ridge of his shoulder blade. She had always been attracted to him, but her shyness never really let it be said – not in so many words. It had never explicitly come up in all the time they had dated. Letting Snow take the lead was easier, as she expended every ounce of her own energy just clinging tightly to their relationship in spite of her sister's opposition. That much had been impossible to forget.

Now, it suddenly seemed very important that she confirm her feelings, for Snow's sake and for her own reassurance. But even with motivation, she honestly didn't trust herself to find the right words for the unrefined emotions inside.

_I don't think "I love you" is what I'm looking for. This is more specific, measurable._

_Tangible._

Serah was so wound up in her own thoughts that she didn't notice when Snow stirred. A moment later, she looked back down to his half-awake, grinning face as he shifted onto his back and folded an arm behind his head.

"Guess this means it wasn't just another crazy dream, huh?" he remarked in a husky voice, taking her hand in his much larger one. "You sleep okay?"

Serah cleared her throat. She felt silly for blushing so much, but she answered as evenly as she could, "Yes, I did. Thanks again… for giving me a little space. I'm sorry I was so shell-shocked last night."

"Forget about it. You thought I was a burglar attacking Hope, so I can't say I blame you for being freaked out." He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed it, his playful smile growing as he tilted his head and asked, "But now that you've calmed down, wanna tell me more about all the fun I've missed?"

"Not sure I'd describe it as 'fun'," Serah muttered, looking down at her lap. She couldn't shake the minute twinge in her abdomen that such a simple gesture as a kiss on the hand had caused – well, that in combination with the proximity of his bare upper body. And if there was one thing she did remember from their time on Cocoon, it was the feeling his last kiss had given her, which defied explanation. His sweet, guarded kisses at intervals during their pillow talk from the night before were a taunting reminder.

All told, Serah wasn't quite ready to spoil the moment by delving into the troubles Snow had missed. That seemed like such a waste. He was there, and she was there. For once, she knew exactly what she wanted.

_So what am I waiting for?_

When she replaced the coffee mug on the nightstand and fixed her determined eyes on Snow again, his smile dropped away in confusion. "What's wrong, Serah?" he asked, but she was more watching his mouth move than listening. "I mean, if there's something you don't wanna talk about—"

Serah gently stopped his mouth with her fingers, knowing hesitation would cause her to lose her nerve – and she had already lost enough time. She didn't give it a second thought before she leaned over him, the bulk of her hair falling down around their faces as she pressed her shy lips against his.

Surprisingly, she didn't feel so bashful a moment later when she felt Snow smiling against her mouth. He welcomed her, teased her with the softness of his reciprocating kisses, and molded one hand against the small of her back while winding the other into her hair. The bitter taste that came with the morning and the coffee didn't stand a chance against the forces set in motion. Serah sensed much more power surging under the surface of Snow's body than his actions suggested, and she wasn't quite sure whether to feel thankful or frustrated by his restraint. For better or worse, she took the kiss up a notch.

"What's gotten into you?" Snow breathed, sometime between the rhythmic motions of their mouths. He didn't seem to expect an answer. As quickly as Serah felt his grip tighten on the back of her tank top, she was rolled over and into passionate oblivion.

It was a short time later when she did find her own breathless words. Serah meant that "I love you" with every fiber of her being.

* * *

Hope had never been so enthused to leap into Thursday's weapons training. Generally, sparring with a partner or hacking at some faceless dummy with a gunblade was alternately too challenging or too tedious, but he needed an outlet so badly that either one of those scenarios suited him fine.

_I__have__ – __to__get__ – _over _myself!_ his mind shouted furiously to the beat of his vicious, carving strokes into the practice manikin. Hope could sense a dark cloud hovering over him, and it had taken him a solid hour of training before he could finally trace it to its source.

It all boiled down to one detail. Just the day before, Sazh's mention of the date had cracked the barrier to his carefully shut-off memories of the fireworks and the Purge, letting them trickle out in a steady flow. Hope had been preoccupied with helping Serah work through her own depression at the time, however. He told himself that mourning his mother's death could wait another day or two.

But he had certainly not anticipated the bittersweet timing of Snow's arrival.

Now, Hope found himself trapped in the day between – that single, treacherous day that separated his two most poignant memories of Nora Estheim. He had been relieved to see Snow return the night before, pleased that Serah would be happy and safe, but as the morning wore on, a surge of his unpleasant and heavy thoughts had spilled out into the forefront of his mind. His emotions tried to make him feel abandoned, or foolish, or something that he could not name – something so childish and insignificant that it didn't deserve a name, more likely. The worst part about it was the threat that his troubles could very well rain on Serah's totally justifiable joy.

Thus, he intended to beat the pointlessly selfish, discordant part of him into submission as he channeled his frustration and slaughtered the dummy.

"Holy hell, I've _never_ seen you this wound up," Lucil remarked in awe. Hope froze mid-swing and whipped his intense gaze toward the soldier lurking in his periphery. She never interrupted him after initial instruction unless his technique was off.

Hope flicked his wrist and shifted the gunblade back into its gun form. Aggravated further, he angrily wiped the sweat from his forehead and snapped, "I was _focused_, thanks. What did I do wrong this time?"

"Nothing, really," she remarked, narrowing her eyes at his tone. "But I have to wonder what that dummy did to you to deserve this level of punishment." She motioned with her hand at the multitude of deep gashes in every critical area.

Hope glowered at her, ruffled by the insinuation. "I was under the impression that a real enemy would require my full effort. You play like you practice, after all."

The corporal planted her hands on her hips firmly. "Not buying it, smartass. Now are you going to come clean, or am I going to have to beat it out of you?"

"Try me," Hope fired back in mock defiance, rolling his shoulders before he turned back to the dummy and extended the gunblade. "Name a time and place."

He raised the blade overheard, but he didn't get the chance to take his next swing as his legs were suddenly knocked out from under him, landing him flat on his back. He was too winded to curse.

Lucil towered above him with a challenging smirk. She tilted his chin up with the tip of her gunblade to meet his indignant glare. "How about right here, right now?"

"Fine," Hope ground out between his clenched teeth. He got to his feet and took a ready position, holding his gunblade in an uncharacteristically open and offensive posture.

Quirking an eyebrow at his stance, Lucil nevertheless lunged for a first strike. The metal sang as it clashed with Hope's blocking blade and threw him off balance, and the corporal easily side-stepped his attempt at a riposte.

"Not a good choice, Hope," she corrected. She guided him clockwise with a quick slash on her off-hand side. "I told you to take a defensive starting stance at your level, remember?"

_Naturally. How could I forget? I guard myself so well it makes me sick sometimes._

He spun and met her blade again, jumping back to distance himself as he remarked, "Well, I can't stay stuck at my level, right? I thought you were planning to challenge me."

"If that's what you want. Be warned, though – I won't go easy on you." Lucil readied herself for another attack with a dangerous glint in her eye, and Hope didn't quite catch the point at which she closed the distance between them.

His form wasn't bad, but it wasn't nearly good enough to even the odds. Hope narrowly avoided another swing of Lucil's blade and tried to slice toward her open side, just in time to see the confident look on her face as she twisted around for an effortless block. They went round and round for some time in the stuffy training room, only the sounds of breathing and clashing metal breaking the silence. Even if he was losing, Hope felt relieved to not be thinking anymore.

Once, in the middle of their semblance of a grudge match, Hope's eye caught a glimpse of Lieutenant Gippal passing by the open door. The man gave a lazy salute as he called out to Lucil in a teasing tone, "Hey, Corporal! You break him, you buy him!"

Laughing in response, the corporal was unfazed. If anything, the barrage of arcing slashes from her blade through the air intensified. Hope could barely keep up with blocking the attacks, much less land a strike through her defenses as she danced around him in circles, and several times he was sure she could have gutted him, nicked his arm or rent his heart with a well-aimed stroke, but he never once felt the pain of an actual stab or saw blood from a wound. Hope knew he was being toyed with, and that infuriated him. He ignored the sweat stinging his eyes, blocked out his aching muscles and tightened his grip on the blade, refusing to yield.

Determination notwithstanding, his footwork began to falter between Lucil's faster motions within minutes. The attacks of her crimson blade carried the speed and unpredictability of lashing flames – Hope may as well have been battling a fire with a pocket knife, and the red ponytail whipping around with each strike only secured that discouraging image in his mind. She soon tripped him up as before and slammed him violently on his back, pinning his torso down with a knee while bringing the edge of her gunblade to his neck. He knew she didn't intend to use it – it was simply fair form.

Panting and exhausted, Hope couldn't muster the strength to glare up at her. "So… you win… again. Surprise, surprise," he said bitterly. "What do you want from me?"

"Respect," Lucil bit out, rising gracefully from the floor to revert her gunblade and holster it. She offered her hand to help him, but he stubbornly sat up on his own instead.

The corporal shook her head at him. "I get one day a week to somehow teach you proper form with conventional weapons, and you nearly bite my head off. You turn into such a patronizing little bastard when you get in a mood."

"And your solution to that is to shred my t-shirt?" Hope groaned, pulling the torn, army green fabric away from his body to inspect it. There were slashes across the stomach, side, chest and sleeve.

"Damn. I _knew_ I'd been hit."

"Well it worked, didn't it? Nothing like a sound defeat to tone down the attitude. Next time, challenge me when your sword's sharper than your tongue, Estheim." Lucil offered her hand once more, and he reluctantly accepted it.

"No need to play formal," Hope muttered. He dusted himself off and continued to stare down at his ruined t-shirt for several seconds before he said quietly to himself, "Hmm, what's this?" He peeled off the drenched shirt and swiped his index finger over a trickle of blood on his chest, sucking the fingertip clean.

"Looks like you're slipping a bit, Corporal."

Lucil rolled her eyes in exasperation, but something in the way she then immediately averted them to the floor took the superior, critical edge off her demeanor. She huffed, "You expect me to keep missing you when your form is so erratic? There's only so much I can do."

"Fair enough. It's just a scratch, anyway. It was bound to happen sooner or later," Hope admitted with a shrug, cleaning off the thin red trail a second time to reveal the shallow cut beneath. "Besides, I kinda deserved it."

"Just make sure to clean it properly," she warned. "Actual injury wasn't my objective." For winning the match, the corporal looked a good bit less than victorious. She wasn't lording it over him, instead opting to stare daggers at his gunblade where it lay beside his feet.

Hope silently picked up the offending weapon and left the wadded fabric in its place. "Guess I should get another shirt," he said blankly as he pulled his communicator from his cargo pants pocket. He started to dial for Serah, but thought better of it.

_I __told __her __to __sleep __in __and __relax. __I __can__'__t __be __depending __on __her __for __this __silly __stuff, __not __anymore._

"Maybe Maqui's around." He dialed in his friend's channel instead.

Lucil raised her eyebrow in puzzlement. "You aren't gonna call Serah?" she asked, dragging her glove over the sweat running down her face as she waited for an answer.

Hope held up a hand for her to hold the thought while he explained his situation to Maqui. It took him over two minutes to tell the whole story, as he had to deal with intermittent hysterical laughter on Maqui's end.

"Yeah, I know it sounds ridiculous," Hope grumbled, finally having gotten a coherent response. "Now about that t-shirt…"

Maqui was clearly crying with glee over the communicator. He breathed several times to calm himself before he declared, "Well you're in luck! I do happen to have an extra shirt on hand, but it'll be about half an hour before I can get over there. In the meantime, have fun being shirtless dude!"

Sighing, Hope stifled the urge to blow up at the person who was providing the much-needed article of clothing. Instead, he just replied, "Alright. Thanks for doing this."

The instant he'd finished his sentence, and as Maqui was giving his last snarky closing remark, Hope noticed Lucil's anxious eyes had focused on him directly.

"Well," she began, eyes narrowed, "what's going on? You always call Serah in this sort of situation. Is everything okay?"

Hope snapped the communicator closed. "Serah's just fine, but she's off today so I didn't want to bother her."

Suspicion continued to cloud the dark blue eyes that had fixed on his, finding him out. Lucil said pointedly, "That's a convenient little half-truth. You think I'm unaware of the reason she's off today, don't you? Well, I'm not. So if your real purpose was to avoid disturbing the love-birds back home, you could've just admitted it."

"What?" Hope exclaimed, his arms going rigid at his sides as his hand tightened on the gunblade grip. "How did you find out about Snow? I didn't tell you anything!"

"No, Maqui did," Lucil retorted, crossing her arms defensively. "He got the message from Serah, and I'm pretty sure everyone on base knows about Snow by now. That techie-geek is his own broadcast station."

Hope let out a short, empty laugh. He stuffed the communicator back in his pocket and asked absently, "So what did he tell you?"

"Just that Snow woke up in the middle of the night, and that NORA's planning a welcome party for him at the Vestige tomorrow, at 1800 sharp," the corporal explained, looking steadily more uneasy as Hope didn't respond. "I-I hope he at least gave Lebreau a heads-up before going and announcing it, though."

"It's for Snow," Hope said absently. "I'm sure she'll jump right on board like the rest of them."

Hope felt the news of the celebration settle on him like wafting smoke from an approaching fire. His chest burned anew with the conflicted feelings still swirling around inside him that centered on his mother, or Serah, or some convoluted mess of everything. But those feelings were too volatile to ever be released into the open. They had to be snuffed out, and he had to find his own way to adapt, for better or worse.

_I__'__m __not __a __child __anymore. __I__'__ve __learned __the __hard __way __what __childish __reactions __can __do._

Lucil had clearly seen something change, and she lit up with a sudden realisation. "Wait, this whole morning was— this is all because of Snow coming out of crystalstasis, isn't it?" she said, not waiting another second to voice her thoughts. "All the pent-up frustration and everything… It was worse than I've see from you before, but I should've known the timing was too perfect for coincidence."

Hope simply reverted his gunblade and turned away. "It isn't worth dwelling on, Lucil. Really."

Willfully shrugging it off, he walked over to the rack of practice weapons and deposited his gunblade. He looked back to Lucil's troubled face with a forced half-smile.

"Anyway, I guess I have plans this Friday, for a change," he remarked, hoping to play at casual acceptance. "I might actually look forward to it. I'll definitely get a kick out of your reaction to the famous Snow Villiers, after all."

Lucil's mouth dropped open in surprise, but she quickly straightened up her shoulders and shot him a suspicious glare. "What is _that_ supposed to mean?"

"Nothing much. Don't take me so seriously!" Hope laughed dryly. "Snow just doesn't have the most stellar track record with lady soldiers. Call it a lack of tact. He can't help that he's got a bigger mouth than Maqui!"

"Oh Maker," the corporal groaned, pressing the heel of her hand between her eyes. "We're all doomed."

* * *

Snow did have a big mouth. Serah had forgotten just how big, but she'd been catching glimpses of it over the course of the last day and a half, and now she got to witness its full power firsthand while he commanded the small gathering of their friends with his gregarious personality. That wide grin of his was infectious.

And it was never wider than when in the company of NORA, his entourage of adoring and supportive pals who could hardly wait more than a day to officially hail his sudden arrival. They had been celebrating at the Vestige for over two hours and were nowhere near finished recounting tales of their adventures together.

Respectively, Sazh, Lucil and Hope had been contemplative, distracted or outright disengaged after the first half-hour of rambunctious greetings and inside jokes, but as the doting fiancée, Serah was happy to take it all in and join team NORA's conversation from time to time.

_They __need __this. __They__'__re __practically __family, __and __it__'__s __been __so __long__—_

From behind the bar, Lebreau suddenly exploded with laughter at the mocking impression Snow had just done of Maqui's reaction to some long-forgotten prank. Her dark eyes danced with joy when she sauntered over to the table holding another round of drinks.

Snow's act had Yuj choking on the palawan wing he had tried to eat, and Gadot whacked him on the back. Regaining his breath, Yuj spluttered, "Now _that_ – that, Snow, is spot-on! And I have no sympathy for him either. Even at that age, the kid should've known—"

"What? How was I supposed to have a clue?" Maqui protested. "I mean, it was like this…" His crazily gesturing hands formed an estimation of the size and shape of the object that deceived him as he tried to explain, "It even had a _ticking_ timer! I didn't know you rigged up a bunch of firecrackers – the whole setup looked real. And if it _had_ been a real bomb, you would've been just as freaked out!"

Lebreau just laughed again and slammed a drink onto the table in front of Maqui. "Right, we believe you," she dragged out with a wink. "Not that evacuating the restaurant over a fake bomb was the most inconvenient thing we've had to deal with." She whipped her head over to Gadot, her eyes flashing. "Remember how you lost that cruiser, Gadot? And in the middle of a warzone, too. We had to hoof it to safer territory because _you_ let a couple of kids steal our only vehicle right out from under your nose!"

The burly man just waved off the accusation. "Heh, since when do kids know how to even operate that kind of vehicle? Not like I coulda seen it coming." He took a long pull from his mug and lazily pointed a thumb in Hope's direction as he remarked, "We only recently figured out that this one's special when it comes to machines."

"Now hold on a second… _Hope_ stole your cruiser?" Sazh blurted in disbelief. "When did _that_happen?"

He looked from Gadot to the accused, drawing the latter's sudden attention. Hope heard his name from where he sat at the end of the table, and his tense gaze snapped up from the water glass he had been concentrating on for the last little while. A hush settled over the group before he spoke.

"I-It was an emergency," Hope stammered, a faint flush only reinforcing his conflicted eyes when everyone waited for him to elaborate. He stared into his glass again as if divining for words. "I was just trying to follow Snow … after the bridge collapsed."

Rubbing his chin thoughtfully, Sazh remarked, "Hmm… Guess I was still taggin' along with soldier girl when that happened. We could see the bridge, but it was a ways off."

Snow rubbed at the back of his head and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. From her seat directly on his left, Serah could sense that he wanted to say something, but before he got the chance Maqui chimed in excitedly, "Oh yeah! That was right after they derailed the Purge train, and we had to help all those civilians defend themselves. It was pretty impressive if you ask me – there were so many volunteers that we gave away every last weapon. I couldn't believe it when that random lady got right up and took—"

"Tone it down, Maqui," Snow interjected, not harshly but with enough weightiness behind his voice that it stopped the conversation. "That whole mission wasn't something to brag about, not after PSICOM blasted everyone off the bridge. How 'bout we leave that stuff in the past, alright?"

Maqui looked momentarily stunned, but Sazh solemnly nodded in agreement with Snow's decision to drop the subject of the Purge train, the ruined bridge and the many tragedies.

Serah considered the disaster, sucking in a sharp breath when she noticed that the tension in their midst and her own concentration had stopped the work of her didn't help that there was something in Snow's eyes that she could only discern as deep sadness – he had stated a valid enough reason why, yet Serah got the feeling it was much more specific than the deaths of the nameless civilians that he'd mentioned.

Worse still, Hope's eyes were once again fixed on his glass with enough intensity to have boiled the water. He only glanced up at Snow for a fleeting moment when the man put an end to Maqui's chatter. Serah didn't miss the exchange of understanding and relief in that glance.

"Sure, whatever you say," Maqui muttered uneasily. He adjusted the goggles on his head and cleared his throat. "So, I guess we still have a lot of explaining to do about our new mission. There's a whole lot to it, but it's right up your alley, Snow – trips into the wild, fighting monsters, making maps, searching for survivors… the works! You'll have to join us!"

Lebreau let out a shaky chuckle at Maqui's rapid shift in gears, slapping him playfully on the back of the head. "I think you mean he'll have to _lead_ us, goofball."

From there, much lighter conversation gradually picked back up. It was clear to Serah that none of the NORA members knew what was wrong with Hope, and neither did Sazh or Lucil, though the corporal's grim expression suggested that she wasn't willing to let it go and reminisce along with Snow's pals. She tapped her short nails on what was her fourth glass, her chin resting in the palm of one hand, and every so often she would shift her dark, distrustful blue eyes from Hope to Serah as if to demand an explanation.

How Serah wished she could fully explain. Naturally, the indirect mention of circumstances involving Hope's escape from the Purge would justify his profound discomfort with the topic Maqui had brought up, but he had already seemed preoccupied since arriving at the Vestige. Moreover, he hadn't been himself that morning, or even the night before. There was some puzzle piece missing from the picture Serah had constructed in her mind to explain Hope's mood. She continued to grasp for the truth, all other conversation and movement fading into the background.

_What __are __you __hiding __from __me?_

Serah turned to Hope automatically. It was abundantly clear that he had not intended to bring his issues up, and that was not about to change – his green eyes refused to meet hers or acknowledge the concern behind them. As if he had been reading her thoughts and felt the weight of the questions she wanted to ask, Hope stood and quietly excused himself from the table.

"I've got to check on something in the hangar," he muttered, giving a little wave and a tight smile at the group. "Back in a bit." He stuffed his hands into his pockets and went straight out the door.

Fortunately, everyone – including Maqui – seemed to take the hint from Hope's demeanor that it was not the time to be questioning his actions. They waved back, or just smiled, but none of them had the words to say anything beyond the standard, "See ya later." Serah felt her spirit drowning in the depths of her stomach, though she knew she wasn't alone; in fact, her fiancé knew more of the situation than she did. And the ever-optimistic Snow looked torn.

"Hmph. Looks like you've really done a number _this_ time, Maqui," Lucil said offhandedly, the only person who dared to address the situation everyone else was trying to pass over.

Slamming his hands on the table, Maqui shot back, "How the hell was this _my_ fault, huh? Somebody care to explain?" He stared the corporal down, but she made no move to respond. Her expression was blank as she shrugged and took another sip of her drink. If Serah hadn't known better, she would have thought Lucil bored by the situation.

Instead, it was Snow who spoke up. "Look, Maqui – I'm really the one to blame here," he said somberly. "There's something I should've explained to all of you earlier… I mean, I guess I didn't really get the chance to. Either way, I'm tellin' you now so that's gotta count for something." Snow took a long drink, as if to steady his nerves. Seven pair of anxious eyes fixed on him.

"Guys," he began, directing his words at the NORA members, "do all of you remember that woman from the Purge train who ended up shooting down the ship that was about to blast me into eternity? It was the same lady that you mentioned earlier, Maqui."

Yuj was clearly at a loss, but both Maqui and Lebreau nodded apprehensively as Gadot remarked, "Yeah, I was relieved when I saw that she'd landed a hit – at least, I was before PSICOM blew the bridge in half."

"Exactly. That explosion went off right behind her and knocked both of us off our feet." Snow folded his arms in front of himself on the table, his eyebrows creasing under the strain of the memory. He quietly continued, "She was barely conscious… I think she was in pretty bad shape even before we started sliding to the edge of the bridge. But just before she fell – slipped right through my fingers – that woman looked up and begged me to 'get him home.' It took me half the journey to figure out that she was talking about Hope. He-he told me himself that her name was Nora Estheim."

His words hung in the air, thick and choking. A long moment of shocked silence dragged on, and even Sazh's pained expression betrayed his prior ignorance of that entire situation, despite his having travelled with both Snow and Hope as l'Cie.

For Serah, Snow's revelation pierced her heart and sank it like dead weight. Her eyes widened as Hope's desperate words from two years before suddenly rang in her head. _"__Mom __picked __up __a __weapon __and __got __herself __blown __off __a __bridge __trying __to __protect __me__…"_

_He __must__'__ve __seen __it __all. __That__'__s __why __he __went __after __Snow, __why __he __blamed __him__…_

To further complicate the dilemma, it dawned on Serah that it had been exactly three years to the day – possibly even to the hour – since she had been stuck in the _real_Vestige while the Purge train was derailed and that fateful incident on the bridge had unfolded. Three years since Nora Estheim had died, leaving her son to find and consequently lose his father, and then wander around in search of a new family.

It was Maqui's voice that broke the group's haunted trance. "Maker, I feel like scum," he choked, his voice cracking. "Why the hell did I have to bring up any of that Purge stuff? I oughtta at least go find Hope and—I don't know, apologise? That's so useless, though. It's not gonna make him feel any better about what happened to his mom." He bit his lip and dug his fingers into his scalp, caught in mind-wracking indecision.

"I hear ya, Maqui," Snow muttered. He tightened his right hand into a fist then, smacking it against his other palm resolutely. "I'm still gonna track Hope down and see if I can help him out. Maybe he'll get angry all over again and punch me for butting into his business, but who knows? Could be just the thing he needs."

Lucil rolled her eyes and raised her glass. "Well, here's hoping that brilliant plan doesn't backfire." She washed down her bitter words with the rest of her drink.

"Heh, it's not like he'll do any real damage," Snow retorted with a shrug. "What're you so concerned about, uh—Lucy, was it?"

It was hard for Serah not to giggle at the deadly glare that shot from the soldier's eyes straight at her fiancé.

"Lucil. _Corporal _Lucil – and that isn't my first name, which I don't intend to disclose. Are we clear?"

After Snow got over his deer-in-the-headlights moment of déjà vu, he straightened up enough to manage a cocky smirk and said, "Yep, clear as a bell. I prefer nicknames anyway. But you didn't answer my question."

"I was getting to it," Lucil said with a strange tiredness, swirling the ice in the bottom of her glass. "All I mean is you'd best consider that Hope's in his comfort zone in the hangar, surrounded by all kinds of dangerous tools and machinery. Try not to turn this into a confrontation. And I say that more for his benefit than yours."

Snow immediately raised his hands and tried to protest, "Hey, it's not like I'm planning to—"

"_Trust_ me," Lucil cut in brusquely. "Fighting won't do him any good right now. Sure, it calms him so he can think straight, but then he just shuts his emotions down and refuses to get whatever-the-hell-it-was off his chest."

_Certainly __does __sound __like __Hope, __even __if __I __haven__'__t __seen __him __fight __firsthand,_ Serah thought, and it seemed to her that everyone else was thinking along the same lines.

When no one at the table said a word to the contrary, Snow just nodded his acceptance of Lucil's warning. He stood and made to leave, and Serah thanked the Maker that he waited until he was waving from the door to speak again.

"I'll be sure and use my manners, so don't worry about a thing, Lucy," Snow called out with a salute, somehow still having the audacity to wink in the face of the corporal's renewed seething. "We'll play nice!" With that, he bolted out the door and closed it with a slam just as Lucil hurled her glass across the room with enough force that it shattered against the wood.

Everyone stared at the fuming soldier with a variety of expressions, ranging from Sazh's wry amusement to Lebreau's reproach. Serah even snorted and covered her mouth, leaving Lucil with nothing to do but slouch in her chair sheepishly after her aggravation was successfully channeled through the destroyed glass. Her face burned as red as her hair with embarrassment and what must have been an excess of alcohol.

"Aw, man," Lebreau whined, hand to her forehead. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to get new dishes all the way out here?"

The corporal muttered in response, "Is that really your main concern right now?"

"That's beside the point. You're cut off for the rest of the night, crazy woman," Lebreau declared with finality as she stood abruptly from the table. She wagged a finger at Lucil. "I don't care if you _can_ still speak coherently. Next time, know your limit!"

"I am well aware of my limit!"

Another argument ensued, but Serah's mind had already drifted back to Snow's mission. It suddenly struck her that he hadn't been anywhere on his own yet and could easily get lost wandering around the unfamiliar base in the rapidly deepening dusk. She stood and darted for the door.

"Sorry guys! Snow doesn't know the way to the hangar," she called, her fingers already wrapped around the door handle. "I'll be right back!"

* * *

Hope's original plan was simple: take a shower in the bunker, make some toast, try to enjoy the toast, and spend the forseeable future finishing the post-mission maintenance on the transport that had recently been returned.

Not long into his shower, it became apparent that the cleansing effort would be of little use. It wasn't that the shower felt any different from the norm – the cool, blasting water was always refreshing in the summer, and after the day's stifling humidity it was even more so. No, the problem was all in his head. His mind would almost always roam freely while he relaxed in the shower, which was a good thing, but sometimes that tendency became a curse when heavy or nostalgic thoughts were already looming – they automatically took center stage and came into sharper focus. Now, that focus was all on his mother.

"_Wouldn__'__t __you __like __butter __on __your __toast, __sweetie?__" __she __asked __with __a __soft __smile. __Nora __had __turned __from __the __window __above __the __hotel __kitchenette__'__s __counter, __a __butter __knife __in __one __hand __and __a __plate __of __perfectly __golden __raisin __toast __in __the __other._

"_No __thanks!__" __he __called, __rushing __past __her __to __the __fridge __in __search __of __orange __juice.__ "__We__'__re __gonna __be __late __for __the __fireworks. __Can__'__t __we __have __breakfast __for __supper __tomorrow __night __instead?__"_

_His __mother __just __laughed __it __off.__ "__Well, __I __guess __we __can __do __that __two __nights __in __a __row. __It__'__s __already __made, __though, __so __you __might __as __well __enjoy __it!__"_

Hope's hands had paused in his hair mid-lather. Escaping suds from the shampoo crept down to sting his eyes, snapping him out of the reminiscence; he quickly flushed his eyes and finished rinsing off. He had no idea if the ritual of making toast would help ease the ache in his chest, but he knew he would feel the slightest bit closer to his mother for the effort. The only thing in his estimation that could be worse than losing her would be to lose the memories that attached her beautiful presence to his world.

_I __should __have __let __her __butter __the __toast. __What __good __did __it __do __to __be __in __such __a __hurry?_

The moment he stepped out of the shower, he popped two pieces of bread in the toaster and pushed down the lever. He began to dry off in typical haste but slowed the process when the cooler basement air hit his damp skin and carried his thoughts away on their former track.

"_Hope, __you __forgot __your __jacket!__"_

_He __was __already __in __front __of __the __door, __toast __in __hand, __but __he __turned __at __his __mother__'__s __voice __to __see __her __outstretched arm __holding __the __orange __and __yellow __jacket __for __him._

"_We__'__ll __be __on __the __beach __for __the __display, __Mom,__" __Hope __huffed, __rolling __his __eyes. __When __she __didn__'__t __budge, __he __stuck __the __toast __in __his __mouth __and __took __the __jacket __anyway__ – __certain __it __would __be __pointless __to __wear __it __after __such __a __hot __day __in __town__ – __before __he __turned __and __opened __the __door. __A __light, __chilly __breeze __from __the __not __so __distant __ocean __prickled __his __skin._

_Nora saw him shiver and laughed. "I guess you've learned something new about coastal weather today, now haven't you?"_

The toast popped up, a resounding click jarring Hope from his memories. Water from his wet hair dripped down his face, but he just shook it out a bit and wrapped the towel around himself as his gaze found the toast. His green eyes misted over when he saw the charred bread.

_I __can__'__t __seem __to __get __this __right __on __my __own, __can __I?_

A fearful validity in that doubt left Hope feeling helpless and alone. His gathering tears threatened to fall, so he tried to tell himself again that it was just about the stupid toaster, which alleviated some of the pain. The appliance itself was something he'd recently borrowed for the bunker to use on mornings when Serah was in a hurry or he hadn't felt like eating, but his toast never could measure up to his mother's or Serah's – it always came out burned.

That thought led Hope to zero in on the color and stench of the charcoal toast, which made him wrinkle his nose in repulsion. Mere seconds passed before flames of indignation grew to consume his sadness and evaporate his tears. He directed his glower from the toast to the appliance.

"Why can't this thing _ever_ get it right?" Hope growled to himself, snatching the blackened toast to dump it into the nearby trash can. He stormed around the back of the room in search of his clothes, only to find them draped in plain sight on the folding chair he'd passed multiple times. Not even having words for his frustration anymore, he chucked the towel at the shower with more than necessary force and pulled on his boxers and cargo pants.

At that point, Hope once again caught sight of the inferior toasting appliance. How such a basic device could manage to screw up its one and only function was beyond him. It was unacceptable. He snatched a screwdriver from a nearby shelf and slowly, deliberately approached the smoking toaster with a look of devious intent.

Hope twirled his chosen tool of destruction from finger to finger.

"I _will_ make you work."

* * *

Standing in front of the hangar at long last, Snow raised his eyes to the roof and whistled in awe. "Should've expected the place to be pretty massive."

"Yeah," Serah said nervously, kicking at the dirt. The industrial building's bulk seemed more daunting after sunset. She reluctantly disentangled her fingers from Snow's to rest her hand on his arm in silent support. "If you don't mind, I'm gonna go back to the Vestige and wait for you. Think you'll remember the way?"

"Count on it." Snow smiled down at her, the doubt she knew to be in his eyes hidden under shadows from the streetlamps. She must not have looked convinced by his assurances, because he took the time to square her shoulders with his hands and give her a gentle kiss.

Before he turned to leave, Snow asked one more time, "Are you sure you don't wanna go with me?" He had asked her that same question at frequent intervals along their walk, and every time she gave essentially the same response.

Serah looked pointedly at the ground. "It's not my place. I wasn't there when everything happened, and I think Hope might shut himself down again if I get involved. He'd feel like it was an intervention, you know? Like we're ganging up on him or something."

"I guess I see your point," Snow conceded quietly. "But since you're dead set on leaving," he began, strolling to the entrance in a few quick strides to plant his palm against the door, "you'd better wish me luck."

Serah gave a short, dry laugh as she waved her hand and called out after him, "Good luck, then! Call if anything goes wrong, okay? We'll be expecting you guys, so don't keep us waiting forever."

"Yeah, yeah, I get it – kept you all waiting long enough already…" His voice trailed off as he entered the hangar and shut the door.

For five tense minutes, Serah waited out on the path in the event that a sudden crash or explosion – irrational as that seemed – might send Snow immediately flying out the doors to land on his backside, but when nothing of the sort occurred, she reluctantly headed back to the Vestige.

_You__'__ll __need __a __lot __more __than __luck __to __help __him, __Snow. __But __I __think __you __have __whatever __it __is __you __need._

* * *

_What__have__I__done?_Hope thought, sitting cross-legged on the floor and staring in despair at the clutter of toaster components all around. He didn't have a manual, and even though he knew he possessed the skills to figure out how the parts worked and what had been broken in the first place, his fit of anger hadn't left any room for sound processing while he had dismantled the appliance.

Hope traced his flawed project back to its terrible beginning. As he had worked to unscrew the baseplate of the toaster, he'd knocked open another section of the base and a shower of blackened crumbs dumped into his lap. Those brittle bits – a collection of remnants from every single time he'd failed to make decent toast – left dark smears on everything they touched. He had subsequently cursed, wiped off the crumbs, and channeled his disappointment into rapid, absolute deconstruction.

Now, he was surrounded by useless parts and useless tools.

Covering his face with his carbon-stained hands, Hope finally let himself fall apart. He wasn't sure if he was sobbing about the toaster, or his own foolishness, or his mother or Serah or even Lightning. It was all too much and it was bursting out of him.

_There__'__s __no __one __left __for __me __to __protect. __I __can__'__t __fix __that. __I __can__'__t __even __fix __a __stupid __toaster __so __what __makes __me __think __I __have __a __chance __in __hell__—_

"Hope? You hiding down here?" he heard Snow calling from the doorway on the other side of the room. Hope froze and held his breath. The shelves were obstructing Snow's view of the back of the room as surely as they blocked Hope's view of the front, but heavy footsteps and scraping crates against the floor told Hope that the relentless man was starting to snoop around anyway. Hope wiped off his face and jumped up from the floor, darting for the emergency escape ladder as quietly as possible.

Then, for some ungodly reason, he paused at the base of the ladder. He stared back at the chaos he had left on the floor.

_What __am __I __running __away __from, __anyway? __My __own __mess?_

"Whoa!" Snow exclaimed suddenly, stumbling into view and gaping at the miniature explosion of metal on the floor in the back of the room. He squatted down in front of the components and picked up the discarded screwdriver.

"What the hell—"

Snow abruptly cut off his speech. He raised his head as if sensing the other presence in the room and turned to see Hope not far away to his right, probably looking like a madman in all his emotional upheaval.

"Aha! There you are!" Snow said enthusiastically, straightening up to stand and point the screwdriver at Hope. Something about him seemed off, though – his iconic grin was definitely not reaching his eyes. Darker, drearier influences were crowding it out – perhaps with sadness, or regret, or concern.

Hope did not want to find pity anywhere in them. He looked down at his hands, and then at his chest and cargo pants that were stained with charcoal marks from the crumbs. His face was likely in worse shape. All in all, it convinced him that Snow had every right to worry over his state of being.

"Congrats, you found me," Hope muttered, wiping his hands on his pants before he ran them through his hair. He looked up at Snow and shrugged. "I guess I got kinda distracted. Sorry."

Chuckling, Snow shook his head. "Gotta be honest with you, Hope – it's hard to tell what it was that distracted you when the poor thing's in this many pieces." He gestured toward the clutter at his feet. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say it was a toaster, but from what Serah's been telling me it's probably some modified weapon or a piece of your ship."

"I wish," Hope said, actually cracking a smile, "but you had it right the first time. That's just my crappy toaster."

There was a single beat of silence before Snow's face contorted and he burst into genuine, rumbling laughter. Hope covered his mouth at first, trying to hold it in until his ribs ached from his suppressed amusement, but the situation was downright ridiculous. A little bit of the gloom around him lifted once he let go.

_Snow __laughs __just __like __Serah__ – __holding __nothing __back. __It__'__s __impossible __not __to __join __in._

After the hysteria had ended, Hope rubbed a stray tear from his eye and joined Snow in hovering over the dismantled toaster. Snow passed him the screwdriver before he slapped him on the back.

"Got your work cut out for you, huh?" he remarked, grinning.

Hope sighed and sat down in the one clear spot amidst the components. "Looks that way. I should've paid more attention when I was taking it apart."

Walking around to sit across from Hope on the outside of the mess, Snow picked up the larger piece that was the toaster's chassis. He held it out for Hope to take.

"This one seems like a good place to start," Snow commented. "I've never actually worked on a toaster, but I've messed with weapons and vehicles enough times to recognise the main framework for something."

_Well, __he __got __that __one __right._

Hope took the chassis and placed it in front of his crossed legs. There were still so many smaller parts that he had removed, and he wasn't sure which of them had to do with burning the toast. He turned the toaster's metal skeleton on its top to search for a clue.

Eyes narrowing in concentration, Hope tapped on the chassis with his screwdriver and wondered aloud, "One of these pieces has to be controlling the temperature of the toast…"

"So it's one of _those_ toasters," Snow said knowingly. "Burns your toast to a crisp, I bet. Can't you just adjust the thermostat?"

Hope gave him a dead look. "You don't think I tried that before? I've had that stupid knob adjusted to the lightest setting possible since I got this thing, and it still chars the bread every time. Pyro-toaster _likes_ nuking bread."

Snorting at the words but quickly recovering, Snow waved his hands in protest and immediately explained, "I wasn't talking about the knob on the outside. There's supposed to be a screw or nut or something inside that can be recalibrated on the thermostat – at least, that's what Lebreau said about the toaster in the restaurant back in Bodhum. She paid that electrician way too much to turn a screw, if you ask me. Apparently, if it isn't a weapon, she won't mess with it."

"Well, I'm not seeing that particular nut – or whatever it is – on here, but I probably took it out along with all the other parts," Hope grumbled, sitting back on his hands to regard Snow as he puzzled over a thin strip of metal he had picked up from the floor. Again, the man seemed to have no intention of giving up, so Hope elaborated further.

"You've got to admit, I've really done a number on this sucker. It's not worth your time. And shouldn't you be getting back to the Vestige? I mean, after three years in crystalstasis you can't just miss your own party with all the people you care about."

"You're wrong on two accounts there, Hope," Snow replied, still sorting through parts and not bothering to look up. "First, I think this is definitely worth my time, and second, not all of the people I care about are at the Vestige. That kinda motivated my trip over here." He suddenly brightened up when he lifted a small panel from the floor that contained several interconnected mechanisms.

"I'd be willing to bet this is the part that needs fixing. You should put the whole thing back together first, though, don't ya think?"

Hope was more than a little stunned. He knew it must have shown on his face, too, because Snow first looked confused and then embarrassed as he stared down at the panel in his hand and rubbed at the back of his head.

Hope shook himself out of the daze enough to mutter, "Yeah, thanks." While he began to gather components to return them to their proper places, more rational thinking led him to wonder if Snow had honestly decided to seek him out of his own volition. Some part of him suspected that Serah had been the real culprit.

Reattaching the panel – which appeared to be a control assembly – Hope asked casually, "So did Serah put you up to this? She really does worry too much, and I was doing just fine—"

"No," Snow cut in, the sharpness of his tone making Hope snap his head up from his project. He was face to face with icily serious eyes, no trace of a grin to offset them.

"I told the guys I was coming over here to help you, and that's exactly what I'm trying to do. Sure, Serah was worried about you – everyone was! And with damn good reason. Now between you and me, we both know what's eating you, so I thought I'd save you the trouble of explaining it to anyone else and just let you take it out on the source." Snow sat up straight, drawing himself to a challenging height even in a seated position as he stabbed a thumb at his own chest.

"Go ahead. Rant all you want at me, or at least tell me what to do that's gonna make things right about what happened to your mother. I know you forgave me back then, but from where I sit it doesn't look like you're much better off for that."

Hope didn't know what to say or do. He stared in amazement at the man he had wrongfully blamed for his mother's death, the man who saved him and took him home to his father. Logically, there was nothing left to forgive.

_Then __why__ – __why __do __I _want _to __take __this __out __on __him?_

"Go ahead, Hope," Snow pressed. "Spit it out already. Serah expects both of us to make it back to the party tonight, and you said it yourself – she worries too much."

Hope quietly countered, "Well she needs to stop worrying about me. Serah's too much like her… she's just like my mom. And if Mom hadn't been so concerned about keeping me safe, she might still be alive. That's all there is to it."

Snow was already shaking his head. "No, that's not all there is, Hope. It won't do any good for you to speculate over what might've gone differently. You know as well as I do that if you really love someone, you're gonna risk sacrificing yourself for them. I don't have to tell you how much your mom loved you – it was obvious."

Hope's voice was weakening, breaking apart while his vision was flooded with tears, but he still choked out, "I _know_ that. I should've at least done that love some justice, though. I should've had the guts to protect it. Then Mom wouldn't be dead, and I wouldn't be like this… this pathetic mess of a person who's repeated all the same mistakes with Serah. I'm even screwing up Serah's time with you!"

All those words hit Snow and seemed to cut right through him. His eyes carried that tightness around the edges that betrays the need to cry, but instead he ducked his head down in silence. The last thing Hope expected him to do was take off his black bandanna and hold it out like a gift.

"Here," Snow muttered, giving the bandanna an insistent shake. "It's not like I carry around tissues, but this should work."

Having seen his fair share of awkward situations, Hope couldn't believe how uncomfortable he still felt in the middle of yet another one. He shifted around to bring his knees to his chest and snatched the bandanna.

"Maker, this is embarrassing," he admitted under his breath, hurriedly wiping off his face with the cloth. "If you ever tell Serah, or anyone else—"

"Trust me, I won't," Snow interrupted. "As long as you don't tell Serah that I made you cry. She might kill me."

Hope rolled his eyes and threw the bandanna back at Snow's head, forcing him to look up. "You didn't _make_ me cry! I was already crying before you got here, so that still leaves me with zero leverage to guarantee you won't tell Serah I'm a selfish brat."

"Heh, you don't need leverage," Snow remarked with a wink. "Serah's made it pretty clear that you're her precious little brother, which makes me your big brother by default. And brothers don't throw each other under the bus. Got that?"

Blinking, Hope had to let Snow's words settle in his mind for a few seconds before he finally acknowledged the claim. "Yeah, I guess that makes sense," he said blankly, still somewhat incredulous about Snow's automatic acceptance.

Snow just went back to staring down at the half-repaired toaster on the floor between them. "Getting back to business, little bro… what was the ultimate goal when you attacked this toaster? I bet I can help you with that, even if this thing turns out to be unfixable. And I'll be damned if I leave this place without being any help."

_Did __he __seriously __just __ask __me __that? __Maybe __he__'__s __hunting __for __some __deeper __meaning, __but __I __should __probably __keep __it __simple._

"The ultimate goal – wonder of wonders – was to make toast," Hope said with a deadpan expression. Despite his cool, canned reply, he wasn't too comfortable with the way the conversation was going – which was saying something, considering the places it had already gone.

Snow laughed it off. "Whoa there, looks like somebody's grown some attitude along with everything else," he quipped, jumping right back into his argument with a shrewd look. "But if all you wanted to do was make toast, and you knew this toaster was defunct, why didn't you just make toast at the pub or back at home?"

_Well, __there __it __is. __Sneaky __bastard__'__s __already __setting __a __trap. __Might __as __well __just __get __it __over __with._

"Hmph, I guess there's no use keeping this to myself," Hope muttered as he inspected the reassembled underbelly of the toaster. He had located a conspicuous screw on the control assembly – one that matched Snow's description of a thermostat calibrator.

While he adjusted it in one direction to test its function, he explained in a detached voice, "I wanted to make the toast today as a way to remember my mom, since she doesn't have a grave or anything. We had a tradition back on Cocoon: for supper on particularly special or difficult days, Mom would make breakfast food for the two of us. The last night we did that was the night of the fireworks, but I was in such a big hurry that all she had time to make was toast."

Hope paused for a moment, switching out the screwdriver in his hand for a pair of pliers before he continued thoughtfully, "You know, I think I expected to get lucky. Like the toaster would magically decide to do a good job since it wasn't just any ordinary toast. Should've known better than to trust a foolish plan like that."

Even though Hope didn't look up from his work after he finished speaking, he could tell that Snow had become unnaturally still. The talkative man didn't utter a single word. And in that moment, his lack of response felt more reverential than anything else.

Hope forged on with his project in the contemplative silence, actually feeling lighter after sharing the burden on his mind for a change.

"Hey, Snow?" Hope said several minutes later, holding up the reconstructed toaster. "Could you plug this in, right over there?"

Snapping out of his trance, Snow took the cord and plugged it into a nearby outlet on the wall. He automatically handed Hope the loaf of bread on the utility cabinet.

They both watched in anticipation as Hope put in a new piece of bread and depressed the lever, waiting for progress to unfold. Sadly, their hopes soon began to sink at the sight of smoke. Not a great deal of smoke, but enough.

_Not __again__…_

All fears proved justified when the toast that popped up shortly afterward was a flaming slice of hell, causing both of them to jump back and cough harshly from the sudden expulsion of thick fumes. Hope immediately ran to the fire extinguisher. By the time he got back to the toast, though, it had burned out to a smoking, carbonized brick.

Snow used his trenchcoat like a fan to wave the smoke toward a vent across the room. "You're not gonna believe me when I say this, Hope," he said, obviously trying not to laugh, "but this was a good sign. I think all you did was adjust that screw in the wrong direction. Easy fix!"

"What?" Hope exclaimed as he put down the extinguisher with a loud clang. "You mean you knew which way to calibrate the thermostat, and you didn't _tell_ me?"

Snow finished driving out the last of the smoke with a sharp snap of his trenchcoat before he turned to face a steadily more outraged Hope. He laughed and shook his head, explaining quickly, "No, I didn't know the right direction to calibrate it, just that one direction would turn the thermostat up and the other direction would turn it down. We've just discovered the wrong direction!"

Hope slapped his palm to his forehead. "Ugh. I don't know if it's worth another try at this point," he groaned.

"Sure it is!" Snow declared. He was already unplugging the toaster, dumping the evidence of their failed attempt into the trash before he offered the appliance over to Hope. "Third time's the charm, right? And if it works, we can make toast for the whole gang!"

It was impossible to not get carried away in the face of such unabashed enthusiasm. Hope reluctantly took the toaster and went back to the floor.

"I can't believe I'm still doing this…"

* * *

Serah's eyes were burning a hole in the Vestige door, their primary target for the better part of an hour. The whole group had long since given up trying to carry on conversation without the guest of honor, especially after Gadot had managed to lift the mood with a deck of cards from his pocket. Six rounds of Rummy seemed to mostly divert everyone's attention. Still, the gap remained.

_What__'__s __taking __them __so __long? __Couldn__'__t __one __of __them __have __bothered __to __call __me?_

"I really hope they didn't get into a fight," she sighed, jolting when Lebreau leaped up from her seat across the table.

"Rummy!" Lebreau exclaimed as she slapped her perfectly matched hand of cards on the table.

Upon noticing Serah's tense condition, Yuj patted her shoulder. "Hey, I really doubt they got into a fight. Maybe Hope wasn't even in the hangar, you know? Snow might just be bumbling around and trying to find his way back over here."

"Oh no," Serah groaned. She turned her suddenly defeated face toward Yuj. "What if they don't come back at all?"

"No, I don't actually think that! I'm sure they're just fine, Serah," he said with a sympathetic smile. He took the forgotten cards from her hands and added them back to the deck.

Right then, the sound of the creaking door arrested everyone's attention.

Snow stepped inside with a flourish, his outstretched arms asking forgiveness. "You guys miss me? Aw man, you started playing cards!" He took a couple of large strides toward the table before everyone heard the door close behind him. Serah's eyes zeroed in on Hope standing there, looking more embarrassed than anything else. He was holding a plate piled high with toast.

_What __the__… __?_

Instantly, Serah was on her feet. "What took you guys so long?" she demanded, alternating her gaze between them to give her guilt-inducing expression equitable distribution before she directed it at Snow. "I thought you'd gotten lost!"

"Absolutely not!" he crowed with a smirk, gesturing behind him to Hope and the plate of toast. "Hope just fixed the toaster."

Serah blinked, looking to the faces around her only to confirm that yes, they were all just as confounded by the new development. Lebreau finally shook her head and chuckled.

"Hope, honey – if you needed a toaster, you could've just asked! There's one behind the bar."

"That's okay," Hope muttered shyly, following after Snow to take the plate of toast to the table. "I really needed to fix that thing anyway."

_He __seems __so __much __more __like __himself __now._

From there, Serah's smile began to spread until it stretched from ear to ear as she watched the scene unfold. Lebreau and Yuj rushed to the bar to grab jelly and more plates, Maqui started busily passing around the napkins, and Lucil obligingly reshuffled the cards to deal Snow and Hope in for the next game. Everyone seemed enthused about the little goodwill offering that had somehow landed before them from the hangar, of all places. And of all things, toast.

_Aw, __they __even __buttered __it,_ Serah noted upon closer inspection.

"So," she said, turning to Hope once he had quietly taken the seat to her left, "is this your own little welcoming gesture, or something else?"

He gave her a small, perfectly crooked smile that made his eyes glow with familiar warmth – a look that was just for her.

"Let's call it a new tradition."


	16. Panic

**A/N: Happy Thanksgiving, my wonderful readers! Apologies X infinity for the lateness of this post. Forgive me because it's extra-long? Please? Holy cow, this chapter was a headache _ Practically had to re-write the first half of it (after facing insane rage from beta-roomie like I've NEVER seen before), on top of writer's block and work stress, but it DID get done and I can't WAIT to see the reviews! **

**Things may well continue to be slow from here, as I shall be deployed for a while and am not sure when or how I'll be able to post updates, so don't be surprised if a month or two goes by before I update again. I'm sorry, but rest assured that I WILL be writing rather than abandoning my fic ^_^ Fortunately, there's only one thing that I really planned to explain before we begin:**

***The name "Hana" really does mean "happiness" in Arabic. I didn't just pull that out of thin air :P**

Panic (of the future)

_One, two, three…_

For the fourth straight morning, Serah lounged on the couch at half past five, running her thumb over the chip in her coffee mug's handle. She never did like it when Hope took flights for the supply expeditions, and she'd gotten into an odd habit of having her alone time on the couch whenever he left, almost as if her occupation of his territory could keep the emptiness there from spreading. After his relocation to the living room two months before, it was unquestionably his space – without him it was always a void. Yet somehow, this time felt worse still.

_He'll be back tonight. What is he going to do when I tell him?_

Utter silence prevailed in the house. It would be at least another half hour before Snow bothered to get up for the day, and that gave Serah more than enough time to sort her anxious thoughts. Just two days before, Ann had given her the news she'd been waiting to hear for months – the news that a compatible carrier had finally survived enough of their meticulous clinical trials to be tested for preemptive viral treatment against relapse. It was a far cry from curing anything, but it represented the next step in that process. And she knew it could be the only treatment Hope might see for a long time.

Serah would have been beside herself with excitement, but she was plagued with doubts. No scenario that entered her mind was without an element of indiscernible risk, and every time she imagined herself telling Hope about the breakthrough, she could see him leaping at the opportunity, volunteering to be a test subject – anything to improve his condition. The practical medic within her agreed, insisting that he would benefit from giving it a shot, but the cautious observer inside wanted him to wait it out until the treatment had been proven effective.

_Now you know that's not fair. Who are you to force his decision either way?_

"His sister," she whispered to herself, breathing in the steam from her coffee to calm herself again. As such, the best she could do would be to tell Hope his options and give bits of rational advice that he could take or leave. It was the uncertainty that worried her most – no amount of confidence in herself or the rest of the medical staff could wipe that away.

Suddenly, a large hand landed on her shoulder and startled Serah from her concentration. She sloshed hot coffee on her sweat pants, hissing under her breath as she hastily placed the mug on the floor to inspect the damage.

"Heya, beautiful," Snow said in his gruff morning voice. He leaned down to plant a kiss on her cheek but quickly noticed the dark splotch Serah was tugging at. "Oops, my bad. I got this." With that, he crossed to the dresser-turned-coffee bar and snatched several napkins, and the movement pulled Serah's attention from the spreading brown stain on her thigh.

Her head turned slowly, eyes flying wide. "Snow, where are your _clothes_?"

_I can't believe I just said those words._

Her clearly self-satisfied, naked fiancé grinned from ear to ear, his expression almost as smug as his declaration. "It's not like you haven't seen all of _this_," he said, pausing to gesture at his admittedly impressive physique, "plenty of times before. And there's no one else around, so I don't see any problem with it. You oughtta join me!"

"I don't think so!" Serah exclaimed immediately, hands waving in refusal as her face flushed crimson. "What if Hope came home early and decided to surprise us? You know he would do something like that, and I don't think I could _live_ with that level of shame if he did!"

Snow laughed his rumbling laugh and shook his head. "I'd give that scenario about a one percent chance, on the outside," he scoffed. He knelt next to where Serah sat on the couch, rubbing the napkins into the coffee stain on her pants leg.

"Besides," he said, turning his ice blue eyes to her apprehensive face, "you know you like it."

"Oh stop." Serah rolled her eyes while trying not to laugh, then remarked, "I need to get ready for work. Time for shenanigans is up."

Defeated, Snow buried his face in her stomach and groaned, "Aw, what'd I do wrong?"

Serah sighed, trying to smooth down his hopelessly cowlicked hair. "Nothing, silly. And don't even bother acting like you're deprived or something, not after last night. You just caught me at a bad time."

"That's what you said yesterday morning," Snow continued in a muffled whine, "and the morning before that. And the morning before that…" Suddenly, his head shot up. "Hey, is it almost time for your—?"

"No!" Serah cut in abruptly. "Not _that_." That was generally the extent of her comments in discussions of such a nature. "I've got a lot on my mind, that's all."

"A lot of what?" Snow asked, his questioning eyes looking at odds with the almost-pout that refused to leave his face.

Serah just muttered, "Work stuff," shrugging off the twinge of guilt that hit her along with the realisation that she couldn't tell him everything – not after Hope begged and pleaded that she keep any information about his medical condition from Snow. It was surprising that the others had not already let it him in on it, but Serah was fairly certain that such fortune was just a by-product of their avoiding unpleasant conversation in a time when progress often hinged on everyone maintaining a positive attitude.

"Work stuff, huh," Snow said in a blank voice, obviously not quite letting it go. The disappointment in his eyes sank in deeper and drained the light along with it, leaving his irises a shade closer to cold steel. "Well whatever it is, I guess Ann can help you out," he tacked on as he stood. "I'd better get dressed."

"Right," Serah sighed. She felt a fleeting impulse to grab his hand as he passed by and bare her soul, to take a chance and break her promise, but it wasn't strong enough to push her beyond the safety of indecision. Instead, she reached down to pick up her coffee mug, her thumb absently finding its way to the chip in the handle again.

_I can't. Hope might never trust me again, and Snow would just be worried for no good reason. This will have to sort itself out with no help from me._

* * *

Hope could never be sure if it was due to his crazy experiences as a l'Cie and fugitive, or if it was just a part of his nature, but he got a certain rush from the excitement of never knowing what to expect on supply missions.

Sometimes they would be bound for a mining operation in a distant ravine to pick up a shipment, sometimes rummaging through the crumbling ruins of another Pulsian city for parts or materials, and still other times, like this one, they made routine trips for supplementary goods at Charlie Station. The GC force in the settlement had been instrumental in assisting its true headquarters via that distant outpost, though supplies from there were far from sufficient for the rebel base to operate on. Self-sustainment had always been the goal.

Now, Hope was on day four of their run-of-the-mill trip, which had been anything but standard. He'd dealt with a minor malfunction in steering on the way over that disabled the left aileron – no help to an already blustery transit – followed up by one day of blasting, hot winds and two days of torrential rains that delayed the delivery of all the supplies and turned the accumulated dust into a muddy stew. The rain had also eliminated the option to use campfires for any sort of cooking, not that it would have been a good idea – summertime and showers were the perfect combination to embolden some of the less pleasant wildlife, and they didn't need to be given a meal by following an inviting flame.

The only thing Hope could really do while they waited for the supplies was find and fix the source of his steering issue. Much to his chagrin, after many hours of running systems checks and physically inspecting the wiring in the mechanical space over the first two days, he concluded that the problem did not lie with electrical connections inside the transport. Whatever it was would be outside in the weather.

Hope had waited out the third day's rainstorm, praying for it to pass while he did minor maintenance tasks within the dry transport.

And in the usual fashion, the loud pelting of water on the metal hull overhead had continued into the fourth morning. It was down to the wire already, considering their scheduled 1630 departure, so Hope had no choice but to suck it up and endure a good soaking. As he went on his way out of the transport at six-thirty, the huddled bunch of soldiers at the back of the main cabin looked up from their mugs of instant coffee with tired faces that seemed almost sympathetic. They had set up the coffee mess inside the ship for electrical access since day one, but Hope hadn't quite gotten used to being greeted by strangers every morning.

"Hey kid," the somewhat older sergeant in charge of the group called to him, "you oughtta at least have some coffee before you go out in that downpour." He held out an empty mug for Hope to take, giving an almost fatherly smile with the gesture, but Hope waved back dismissively from the side entrance.

"No thanks. I'd rather not be jittery on top of the wing with so many chances to slip. Maybe after, though." Hope opened the hatch and was about to climb down the steps when another drenched soldier charged into view at the top of the ladder and trudged past him.

She was clearly not a morning person. "'Scuse me," she grumbled, heading toward the back of the transport and leaving a trail of rainwater in her wake. Still stunned where he stood beside the open hatch, Hope was even more surprised when the grouchy girl halted in her mission for coffee and whipped around to face him.

"Wait a minute," she said, narrowing her eyes and pointing an accusatory finger. "I _know_ you."

Hope tilted his head to the side in confusion. "Yeah, so? I'm the pilot. Of course you know who I am." Admittedly, he had made himself scarce for the entire trip, but he still had no idea what she was getting at. Nothing about her seemed to stand out – not that anything would when she stood there covered with a uniform parka and cover, totally soaked from the walk over.

"No, no – I mean I know you from somewhere before…" She stood there with her hands on her hips for a full ten seconds, apparently lost in thought as her curiosity overshadowed her former mood. Hope exhaled through his nose and glanced from the girl to the doorway, far from feeling patient, and eventually shrugged and turned to climb out of the transport.

The soldier chose the exact moment that his hand hit the doorframe to announce, "Oh wait! You were at that mixer back in the settlement. You didn't tell me your real name, though. And what kind of uniform are you wearing? Don't you belong to a squadron?"

_Oh no, not _that _girl._

Hope cringed. He certainly hadn't given a thought to the rather flirtatious private he'd met in the Weeping Wyvern since Serah's recovery mission, and the sudden laughter from the other soldiers at his expense wasn't compelling him to be any more amicable with the girl this time around, either.

"I'm a civilian – I can wear whatever I want," he replied tersely, turning to plant his boots onto the top of the steep steps and exposing his back to the rain. He reached right without a second thought to grasp the rungs against the side of the transport, carefully crossing the short distance from the entryway to the left wing. When he stepped onto its slick surface, he immediately crouched, grabbing the leading edge of the wing to avoid losing balance and slipping off. Rain was running down the seams of the hull behind him in rivulets, and it streamed from the flaps ahead. Hope planted his knees on the wing and began to crawl at an incline toward the distant aileron near the tip. It was jammed in a slightly upward position.

_At least this should be a simple fix. I wonder what got stuck in there…_

Just as he reached the end of the wing and was about to set to work, he felt a slight vibration in the surface under him. Whipping his head around, Hope had a very hard time not scowling toward the girl now sprawled flat on her stomach at the base of the wing. Both of her arms clung to the leading edge for dear life.

"Hey, what do you think you're doing?" Hope called out over the sound of rain on metal, awkwardly trying to turn himself around on the narrow wing tip. Eventually, he had to sit flat on the surface and let his legs dangle over the side.

The solder lifted her head and craned it toward him to shout back, "Sergeant said you shouldn't be out here on your own – squad rules for high-risk activities, you know? We can't afford to lose our pilot!"

Hope wiped away some of the water that had dripped into his eyes. He could see her doggedly struggling to inch sideways toward him, and he blew out a sigh of exasperation. "Look – Rhem, wasn't it? I don't want to be responsible for you slipping off and breaking a leg!"

She didn't respond. Instead, she continued to make her way, belly down, along the wing until she was less than a meter away.

"Can you… give me a hand?" Rhem asked, trying unsuccessfully to pull herself into a sitting position. And he did give her a hand, if only because he knew she was about to make herself fall if she insisted on squriming around like a worm on a fishing hook.

Once stability was achieved, Hope immediately turned to the aileron, commenting off-handedly, "Think you can keep still and not kill yourself while I take care of this?"

"Sure thing!" Rhem answered a little too enthusiastically, almost immediately flailing until she grabbed onto the wing's edge again.

Rolling his eyes, Hope muttered under his breath, "Just watch yourself."

He had already spied the culprit in his steering issue. A good sized branch from some scrubby vegetation had wedged itself into the space on the far side of the aileron, likely the result of flying precariously close to the overgrown canyon walls along the last part of their route to Charlie Station. He went to work lifting the aileron with one hand and trying to twist out the branch with the other. As his glove squeaked under his strained grip on the rain-slicked metal, he had to wonder again what on Pulse it really was that made him leap at every opportunity to fly off into the wild with a bunch of strangers. Both the plant life and the company had afforded plenty of setbacks.

_Damn it, you stubborn branch, move!_

Seemingly on cue, it released its hold and tore loose from the aileron only to throw Hope off-balance, and he barely kept his seat as Rhem caught his arm to pull him upright. She snatched the branch from his other hand and tapped him lightly on the head with it.

"Lucky I had your back, huh?" she remarked. Despite the satisfied expression on her face, Hope blanched at the words she had spoken. He blinked in surprise.

_Am I really still this dependent on others for protection? Surely not. I've done tons of projects on my own, and it's been years since…_

"Hello in there!" Rhem called, waving her hand in front of his face. "I just saved you from sudden demise. Gonna tell me your name yet, crazy boy?"

Hope wiped off the rain running down his face and shook himself out of his daze. "It's Estheim, if you prefer the last-name military thing," he told her, offering his hand to shake. "Most of my friends call me Hope."

Again to his surprise, Rhem shook his hand once before bursting into laughter. She composed herself enough to explain, "Well that's a hell of a lot more fitting than Kai! I thought it was suspicious when you rattled off such a generic name – it just didn't seem right for you."

"Um… thanks?" Hope ventured, not sure whether to be flattered or insulted. In either case, they were both getting soaked thrice through out there on the wing, so he opted to let it go. "Nevermind. Let's just get back inside."

He checked the aileron again for good measure, making sure there was no additional debris and no significant damage done. Once everything seemed in order, he and Rhem made their way back to the base of the wing at a snail's pace, finally ending up in the dry cabin to drip puddles onto the deck. Their companions at the coffee mess took a few moments to laugh boisterously at the two of them before offering coffee and slaps on the back.

"So, are we all fixed up, kid?" the sergeant asked at length while he checked over a supply list in his hands.

Hope shrugged. "Well, we've been de-branched. Somebody want to go see if the aileron works right while I operate the controls? It just needs to move up and down—"

"I'm on it!" Rhem piped up, heading back out into the weather before the other soldiers could bother offering.

Lacking anything else to do, Hope wandered toward the cockpit as he muttered to himself, "Surely all girls aren't crazy energetic at seven a.m."

But he must have spoken a bit too loudly, because his personal commentary earned a chuckle from the sergeant behind him, and the older man just smiled fondly and replied in his wizened way, "I'd imagine not. That's just our Rhem."

* * *

A few hours later found Hope and an anxious crew of soldiers in the emptied storage tent on post, about twenty meters from the transport and still a fair distance from their circle of four-man tents. Loading preparations had already been completed and no one could think of anything better than dry clothing or a meal that wasn't of the 'ready to eat' variety, but the sergeant had thought it best to give the rain a chance to taper off before tearing down the camp for departure. They were, after all, ahead of schedule.

While a few clusters of soldiers played cards or tried with marginal success to dry out their things, Rhem had apparently decided it was more worthwhile to make small talk with her rediscovered acquaintance.

"I wish you'd told me before that you were a pilot. Were you ever even in the Corps?" she asked, plopping down on the canvas floor beside Hope.

He wrapped his arms around his knees, squashing the urge to roll his eyes when he remarked, "Guess I couldn't have expected you to figure it out. But no, I wasn't ever in the military. They had me in disguise for a mission that night."

Rhem looked positively mystified. She stared at him with her wide, dark eyes and asked in a voice filled with awe, "A mission? I would kill for an undercover mission! What were you doing, then?"

"Getting my sister back," Hope quickly explained, not quite sure how much of the details he wanted to release. "She was that PSICOM girl that ran into me at the bar – also in disguise. You looked pretty pissed about it, but honestly… I didn't have time or reason to feel bad for you, not after how you acted to me."

"Oh." The exuberant soldier was suddenly very sheepish, and she ducked her reddening face into her arms where they rested atop her knees. Several moments passed in silence before she said timidly, "So, Hope, um… Is there anything else I had totally wrong? I'd rather not sound like an idiot again."

Hope thought about the question for a moment and chuckled at her embarrassment over the memory of that interaction. He quietly explained, low enough that only she would hear, "Yeah – I was barely sixteen when you hit on me. Sorry for the confusion."

"Great, now I sound like a creep," she growled in frustration, covering her face with her hands. The angry energy quickly left her, and her forehead drooped forward to touch her knees. "I am sorry for being so, uh… _forward_. Let's just say I'm not the best behaved tipsy girl in the Corps. Anyway, you're probably eighteen by now, right?"

"Heh, getting there."

"Well then," Rhem posited, perking up again as she struggled to work with his simple responses, "I bet your friends are gonna throw you one crazy party!"

Hope shrugged. "I don't see why. I'll be the same person the day after I turn eighteen as the day before."

Wagging her finger at him, Rhem explained with a sly look, "Not so. You'll be legal drinking age."

"Since when?" Hope asked skeptically. "Last time I checked, that was twenty-one."

"Oh, it's been eighteen since the military got to run everything for itself, but I guess it didn't really affect civilians much," she began. "The GC force got younger because of all the new recruits after Cocoon fell, and even PSICOM got tired of slapping wrists when so many soldiers were just trying to deal with too much loss and hardship. The leaders in both branches decided it would be easier to change the drinking age and maintain better security around bars."

Again, Hope shrugged. "That's nice and all, but I really don't care to drink. Based on the aftermath of my sister's twenty-first, I'm pretty sure it would only end in mass amounts of vomit and a terrible hangover."

_And if there are two things I'd rather my body not experience again, they would be projectile vomiting and blinding headaches._

"You can't mean that!" Rhem interjected, the pout on her face making her look slighted by his simple opinion. "She probably just had too much too fast and didn't drink enough water. Were they feeding her shots or something?"

"No… but I think Lebreau may have spiked the raspberry fountain. She avoided me for a couple of weeks afterward, and that just screams guilty conscience," Hope explained with a short laugh.

Rhem giggled and remarked, "Well, I tip my hat to her, anyway. Who's Lebreau?"

"She's a good friend of mine – like family, really," Hope answered automatically. "She was actually the bartender back at the Weeping Wyvern, and now she runs the Vestige. You definitely would've met her."

"Oh yeah, I _do_ know rifle lady," Rhem replied, smirking at the thought. "She's served me more drinks than I care to admit. I'm actually surprised that I haven't seen you at the Vestige before, though, especially if you know the proprieter."

Hope looked up, considering that for a moment, and sighed to himself. "Aside from the fact that I can't drink, I suppose the reason I don't hang out at the Vestige is because I never really have time. I have a lot on my plate, and I kind of prefer it that way."

"Not that I don't see where you're coming from," Rhem began, thoughtfully tapping her chin with a finger, "but I think you'll regret it if you don't set aside some time for a social life. You don't seem like the type to clash with other personalities, and our soldiers are pretty friendly as it is." She gave him a shy smile, and he couldn't help but return the gesture.

Hope found himself briefly distracted by her mouth before he redirected the conversation. "I know I could make more friends and have a lot of fun, it's just… There's something very specific that I'm working toward – this massive undertaking to find two of the most important people in my life. My friends are putting so much effort into it, and I feel like I shouldn't waste time on socializing or anything else unnecessary until we see this through to the end. Nothing else matters."

"Just how much time do you think you'd be wasting, though?" Rhem asked, carefully picking her words. "I mean, it's admirable to really believe in something with all your heart and soul, but then you run the risk of losing yourself if things don't work out as planned. I don't think your friends would want that for you."

Hope forced himself to stare out across the tent, away from her searching expression and past the soldiers absorbed in their activities. There was truth in everything she said, but he wasn't about to explain exactly how much.

Eventually, he said in a quiet but unyielding voice, "What happens to me isn't important, and I won't accept failure."

For the space of a few seconds, Rhem seemed frightened by the weight behind his statement, as if he had simply announced his intention to jump from a bridge. She looked at her hands, clasped atop her knees, seeking an answer.

"Hope," she said with an unexpected, almost pleading sadness in her tone, "do you really mean that? I'm sure your sister would disagree. Letdowns and failures happen, whether or not we accept them. It's not like we're guaranteed to see the things we dream of come to life. Trust me on this."

Hope tightened his grip around his knees and countered sharply, "So I ought to just quit hoping, then? Is that what you're suggesting?"

"No, no," Rhem immediately corrected. She shook her blonde head and bit her lip, searching for a way to explain. "I just think you should always be ready to adapt. If you're focusing all your hopes to the point that you can't handle anything less than a perfect outcome, you're asking for a lot of pain, and that… that makes me wonder if your name is some sort of curse. Like you feel pressured to never let yourself stop hoping, even when it hurts you. That isn't fair, you know."

"A curse?" he choked, his voice suddenly small. "No! I never would've made it this far if I just accepted things as they seemed and gave up on anything better."

_That's the only reason I'm still alive._

Nevertheless, Hope felt his chest seize up with fear. He wanted to deny the validity of everything Rhem had said, but it was too eerily accurate. If he was completely honest with himself, there wasn't a terribly good chance that he would survive a relapse of the virus when it inevitably hit, and even then, there was no logical reason for him to wholeheartedly trust that they would somehow locate Lightning, unscathed, in a PSICOM prison and be able to get her out. NORA and the survey teams already faced an almost insurmountable challenge trying to track down his father, if he had even survived the evacuation ship's crash.

All told, Hope had to admit the odds that he would see either Lightning or his father again were ridiculously slim. It didn't matter how hard he worked or how hard he hoped – fate would deal him a hand just as evenly as the next person. And it hadn't bothered to spare Serah's parents or his mother, or Fang and Vanille, or the vast majority of Cocoon's population.

_I'm not any better than them. What makes me believe I'm so special, that I can save my loved ones and survive when others around me lose everything and die?_

The more he thought about it, the more he felt himself choking inside. He pulled his knees tightly to his chest and tried to hold himself together.

"Look, I-I didn't really mean what I said about your name being a curse, but I was dead serious about the rest," Rhem said softly in the silence, her voice strained as she continued. "You may think I'm just one of those people who chooses to 'live in the now' because I'm silly and shallow. The truth is, I've tried your way before – I used to believe things really would work out if you did everything right and stayed positive. Then Cocoon fell, and my dad caught that random virus. Before I knew it, he was signing my enlistment waiver on his death bed so I'd be able to support myself. I had to move on to survive. So if you ask me, I see no reason to invest your whole self in anything if you can't escape disaster. I've decided to enjoy whatever I have, with no regrets. And I think you'd be happier if you tried that."

Rhem stopped then, letting her past settle like the dust before a solid rain.

"Hey, are you okay?" she asked when Hope didn't respond. She gingerly laid a hand on his shoulder, and when that proved ineffective she shook it until he finally recovered enough to swat her hand away.

_Impossible,_ he still thought, the word echoing through his head. _It's impossible to live without hopes and regrets. But isn't that why death hurts so much?_

Hope clamped his hands over his ears in a sad gesture to ignore the despair that had invaded his brain. Of its own accord, his throat mechanically worked out the words, "Yeah, I'm fine." That was the most he could say.

Blowing out a sigh, Rhem got up from her seat and stretched. She cast her dark eyes down at him, stuffing her hands into her pockets. "Forget I said anything," she said sadly, and not five seconds later she had rushed out of the tent, letting a gust of spray in through the flap.

Several long and empty minutes passed with only the sound of gradually slackening rainfall, occasionally joined by quiet conversation or exclamations from the men playing cards. Hope might have sunk to the bottom of the darkness in his mind had it not been for the wildly aggressive roar of a behemoth that pulled him back to the present.

The jarring, guttural sound was near enough to cause a slight vibration in the air around them. Hope's head shot up from his knees, and his eyes were met with the instantaneous disturbance in the tent. Practially as one, the soldiers leapt up from their card games and whipped on outerwear and weaponry in a symphony of slapping cloth and rattling metal.

"Shoulda known we'd just been lucky to avoid the wildlife with all this rain," their sergeant muttered to himself, hastily directing his squad to pair off and file out of the tent to the transport. Not only would it afford the most protection, but they would likely be forced to make an early departure.

Even Hope knew it was suicide to take on a behemoth with anything less than a well-trained combat unit packing long-range ballistics. The lack of mana-drives among all forces put soldiers at a grave disadvantage in handling monsters of that caliber, and most encounters necessitated evasive maneuvering, preset traps, or a quick escape.

It took less than two minutes or so for the tent to be evacuated, leaving only Hope and the sergeant. The older man had counted every head that left the tent in succession, and now he glanced anxiously around the room.

Suddenly grabbing a still-stunned Hope by the arm, the sergeant dragged him along, out of the tent and through the rain and mud toward the transport. He asked urgently as they ran, "Did anyone leave the tent – anyone at all that didn't return?"

"Y-yes," Hope said, catching his breath. "Rhem left a few minutes ago."

A loud crunch met their ears once they had reached the base of the steps leading into the transport's hatch, and Hope followed the sergeant's gaze to its object. There, not a hundred meters to their left, stood a young behemoth gleefully stomping on the small collection of soggy tents that had made up their camp. Three were already flattened into the earth, and one massive swoop of the behemoth's front claws shredded through the fourth, leaving only one standing. Suddenly, in the midst of the devastation, they saw Rhem stumble out from the back of the final tent and press herself against the canvas.

Hope started to call out to her, but another deafening roar assaulted his ears. Rhem's movements were frantic as she danced in place, glancing from where the sergeant and Hope stood to where the behemoth was beginning to sniff and paw the earth, apparently seeking its prey. She was terrified, but for one lingering moment Rhem stood absolutely still with her fists strict at her sides as she stared directly to Hope's left, looking to her leader. Had the sergeant not begun to gesture and shake his head adamantly, Hope wouldn't have even known there had been an exchange between them.

It didn't matter, though – something changed. Without warning, Rhem saluted, turned on her heel and sprinted full speed for the rock outcroppings southwest of their camp.

Almost instantly catching onto the movement, the behemoth whipped its head toward the running soldier. It zeroed in on her and charged straight through the remaining tent in raging pursuit, closing the distance so rapidly that there was no time to even consider going to her aid. Hope's hands were as tied as the sergeant's – they could only watch, horrified but unable to make any moves that might draw the behemoth's attention to the rest of the escaped squad. Hope's stomach twisted in dread.

Once the monster reached Rhem, its vicious growls were overshadowed by the girl's strangled cry as it smacked her several meters away with its paw, her body careening just above the ground before it slid through the mud to a stop. She struggled to her knees then, crawling and slipping until another blow knocked her even farther away. 

Rhem didn't move again. The behemoth dug her out of the muck only to toss her into the air like a doll. It caught her in its jaws and clamped down, sending dark ribbons cascading down from where its teeth had sunk in, but there was no reponse from the soldier. Death had come and gone in the space of seconds.

_No! How is this happening?_

Shocked beyond reason, Hope almost toppled over when he felt the sergeant shoving him insistently onto the entry ladder of the transport and choking out orders to start the ship before the monster came after everyone else. The sickening knot in Hope's stomach had climbed up to his throat, but he swallowed it down as he scrambled up the steps.

It took two more soldiers to rush outside and haul their squad leader into the cabin. That was the last thing Hope had seen before he left to man the controls – the sergeant breaking down while he cursed and flailed like a madman at the hands of his subordinates. Hope still heard him wailing from the cockpit, but his incoherent cries were drowned by the thrusters as they lifted from the sodden field as quickly as Hope could manage. When the chaotic noise of takeoff had ceased a few minutes later, it sounded like things were settling from rage to disbelief.

"Damn it all, she lured it!" the sergeant cried, his voice soaked in remorse. "Why didn't she take cover? I signaled for her to take cover! That should've been _me_ out there…" Softer voices floated through the ship as well from the soldiers consoling their leader and each other, but it didn't seem like it was doing much good. Hope shook his head violently, trying to shut out the palpable devastation in the cabin so he could concentrate on a steady course. His hands hadn't stopped trembling. It was more than the aftershock, though, that made his eyes sting with tears. He was infuriated by the terrible irony of what had just occurred.

_Screw the odds! _his mind screamed, and he clenched the control column in a death grip._ Fate isn't fair. Rhem had no reason to think she would die today – so much less reason than I do. Good or bad, it looks like I can't trust my chances. Instead of a bunch of unfortunate soldiers, that could be Serah and my friends… everyone I love suffering if I die. _

_I can't let that happen._

* * *

Sometime in the early evening, Serah heard the door creak open and leaped from her seat on the couch, jostling but not quite waking Snow from the nap he'd been taking against her shoulder. She rushed to the landing only to be met by an unsettling sight.

Hope had pushed the door closed behind him and leaned heavily against it, soaked from head to toe with his boots caked in mud – unexpected, given the string of cloudless days on base – but it was the defeated droop of his shoulders and the haunted look in his eyes that stopped Serah in her tracks. All he did was give a half-hearted wave, which was more suspicious still. Rather than pounce on him excitedly, she approached with care and took his hands, removing each of the damp gloves in turn.

"Didn't know the weather at Charlie Station had gotten so foul," Serah commented, tentatively smiling up at his dejected face. "Looks like you made it home in one piece, though."

Hope would only nod. Serah pushed the bangs back from around his eyes and was shocked to see that he was trying desperately not to cry in his silence. He bit his lip when it quivered, and his eyebrows tensed in an effort to remain level.

At that point, Serah had to hug him. She wrapped him up as tightly and closely as possible, afraid that he might break to pieces otherwise. But break he did, falling apart as he cried quietly into her shoulder and crushed her with the force of his arms. He still couldn't bring himself to speak.

Serah heard footsteps approaching from behind, and shortly afterward Snow came upon the scene and mumbled sleepily, "What's going on? Seriously, who died?"

Hope's shuddering sobs intensified at that. Serah glared out of the corner of her eye, hoping that Snow would get the message and say nothing more. It did seem to work, as Snow just rubbed awkwardly at the back of his head and turned to go back to the couch.

A couple of minutes later, Hope finally calmed down and loosened his grip, leaning back to smile weakly at Serah. "Sorry about that," he said softly. His eyes were pained when he took in the amount of dirty rainwater that had transferred to her clothing, and for that he offered immediately, "I-I'll do the laundry tonight, if you want."

_So you don't want to talk about it right now._

"As if I care about this," Serah sighed as she pulled at her darkened blue tank top. She released the shirt and reached up to take his face in her hands, seeing the heaviness that still resided there even as he struggled to avoid eye contact. "Hope, you're always a mess, but I'd rather you be a living, breathing mess than anything else. Now, you can tell me about your trip after you get cleaned up, alright?"

He nodded and said a simple "Okay," giving her a genuine smile before he removed her hands and stooped down to untie his boots. Serah poked at the mud clumps on the floor around him with her toe, not quite willing to leave Hope to himself, until he smushed one cold, sticky blob onto the top of her bare foot.

She hopped back in exaggerated repulsion, shaking the mud off of the offended foot. "Yuck, Hope! What was that for?" she cried. "And here I was going to give you some good news later."

"You're pregnant?" he quipped, snorting as he said it.

Serah immediately turned bright red and slapped his shoulder with as much force as she could muster – which was still pathetic – almost squeaking in aggravation, "What kind of a joke is that? Snow wouldn't think that's funny at all!"

As usual, she ate those words when Snow roared with laughter from the living room, exclaiming proudly, "Hope, I'm afraid I've let ya down there, buddy! Not for a lack of trying, but hey – two months is nothing."

"Snow!" Hope and Serah bemoaned in unison, the former shuddering for a second before he could manage to finish untying the mud-caked laces of his boots. "I did not need to hear that," he muttered under his breath.

Serah just rolled her eyes and left him to finish while she went to change clothes. "Well, you did start it."

"Doesn't make the scars any less real!" Hope called after her.

That would have been the end of it, but in true form, Snow had to open his big mouth again. "Hey, it's not like I can help myself. It's Serah we're talkin' about here."

"Exactly!" Hope shot back. "I really don't wanna know, so _please_ drop it."

* * *

Serah had waited on pins and needles to tell Hope the news – waited for the opportunity. She needed to speak with him alone. Given the circumstances, the rest of the evening would have been nigh intolerable for her, had Snow not mercifully decided to go to bed early after a long, exhausting day. The training regimen with the Guardian Corps was apparently more rigorous than he could have anticipated, and all of NORA was expected to follow it when not deployed on survey missions.

Snow had quickly dismissed any complaints, emphasizing how it made perfect sense to prepare every team member for going into dangerous terrain, regardless of any one person's role. Nevertheless, it left even the hero physically drained on the days that focused on strength training, and mentally exhausted when they had been working with maps and summaries of previous missions to plot out every detail for an upcoming trip.

That particular day, as he'd explained to Serah upon coming home, had included a glorious exercise in negotiating the obstacle course. So after Hope had cleaned up, and after a quiet dinner among the three weary housemates, Snow had stretched and dragged himself off the couch to turn in for the night.

Hope automatically began gathering dishes and hauling them out of the living room to the utility sink in the laundry room – a closet-like space just to the right of the back door. Following him there with a couple of remaining glasses, Serah deposited them into the sink and climbed up onto the dryer.

"I take it your news is from the clinic," Hope stated plainly, working a sudsy sponge over one of the plates.

Serah nodded slowly. "Yeah, you guessed it." She started taking the dishes one at a time as he finished cleaning them, drying them off with a cuptowel.

"Thanks for not bringing it up at dinner. One of these days I promise I'll explain it to Snow myself." Hope shook off some of the suds and rinsed his hands. A moment later, he hopped up to sit next to her on the dryer and asked anxiously, "So, what is this good news?"

Serah's smile spread of its own accord, but her words were cautious. "Ann just announced that one of our trial drugs is ready for use on patients. I think I told you about working on this one, a treatment that's supposed to prevent relapse. I mean, it's not guaranteed to be fully effective and it needs lots of testing before we can know for sure – we aren't positive about side-effects, either. But I wanted to tell you as soon as I found out, to let you decide for yourself if you want to try it or if you'd rather hold out a little longer and see how it works for other patients…"

She trailed off, waiting nervously for Hope's reaction. He continued to stare down at his hands where they rested on his knees, tense and silent for several seconds.

"Nothing is guaranteed, Sis," he said at length, so quietly that she almost didn't hear it. "There's no way to know if I might waste my last day alive waiting for a perfect cure. As for this test treatment, count me in. I shouldn't have some special privilege to avoid it like a coward while other patients take the risk."

The sudden, heavy decisiveness in his voice made Serah look at him a little fearfully, and she didn't know what to say. Hope said it for her.

"You knew I was going to take it, didn't you."

"I thought you would," Serah admitted, some measure of excitement still compelling her to be pleased with even the prospect of recovery for Hope. Not that she was going to let him take any unnecessary chances. To that end, she tacked on, "I'd like you to rest up for a couple of days first, though – that means no maintenance work, no combat training, nothing. A tired body isn't suited for experimental treatment. Understand?"

Hope groaned and pleaded, "Can't I just rest for the second day? I know Sazh is bound to have a bunch of stuff he needs my help with by now."

"This is non-negotiable. Sazh can wait," Serah declared, ending the discussion. She hopped down and grabbed the stack of dried dishes from the washer to put them away in a small cupboard. Hope had remained on the dryer, lost in thought.

"Oh, I meant to ask," Serah said as she opened the washer lid to dump detergent over Hope's filthy work clothes, "what exactly happened on that supply trip?" The question was punctuated by the clang of the metal lid when she closed it, and Hope jolted upright.

Momentarily disoriented, he took a deep breath while they both listened to the water rush into the washing machine. He slumped back against the wall and replied, "There isn't much to tell. The squad I was travelling with lost a soldier… just before we left."

"They lost someone?" Serah asked, watching his face scrunch up painfully again. "You mean lost in the wilderness somewhere, or—"

"A behemoth killed her," Hope interjected in a strained voice, and Serah gasped. Based on his reaction when he had come home, she'd expected to hear that what happened was pretty awful, but she hadn't imagined anything so violent.

Several seconds passed before she could think of anything to say. The anguish in Hope's eyes was still clear while he sat there waiting for some sort of response or comforting word, so Serah rested her arms across his knees and faced him, venturing quietly, "Was it someone you knew?"

"Not really," Hope said in a disconnected voice, "but I learned something important from her." Looking on with sudden unease, he ran his hands over a few lumps and imperfections in Serah's braid, pulling it around for closer inspection. She still wasn't very good at fixing her own hair, so she knew exactly what was bugging her perfectionist brother.

When he started to unwind her botched handiwork, Serah laid her head down on her crossed arms and yawned. "I know I kind of suck, but I think I've improved. It's not like you can be my personal hair-braider forever."

"No?" he asked curiously. "Why not?"

"Because…" Serah knew there had been a good reason in her mind, but she couldn't quite find words for it. She yawned again, her mind wandering back to another question she'd been meaning to ask before she became too sleepy to remember.

"So what was it… that important thing you learned?"

Hope finished unwinding the braid and stroked her hair, his voice somber as he replied, "It was just what I said before – nothing is guaranteed."

* * *

_I hate this. I despise it, abhor it, loathe it…_

Hope ran through the list of synonyms in his head, flopping an arm over his face where he lay on the couch, fully clothed in dress-casual wear at half past ten. He even had proper shoes on. The living room was silent, dull, and sticky with the heat of August just as it had been the day before, and he'd slept so much that it was making him tired.

He'd thought a new day would surely mean improvement. At least, he had thought that right up until he got a call from Maqui at six a.m., relaying a message from the squad sergeant on his recent supply trip. Bright and early, he had been up and dressed to attend the funeral service for PFC Hana Rhem.

_I should have asked her name. It seems so wrong to find out like this._

At the service, he'd had a terrible time holding back the tears when the sergeant explained that her name meant 'happiness,' and spoke about how much her presence had brightened their days serving together. Hope wondered if she had ever tried to tell her comrades just how hard she had to work for that namesake. He didn't know her well enough to have the right to cry over her loss, but he wanted to cry for understanding her situation.

_"Makes me wonder if your name is some sort of curse."_

Hope couldn't get the words out of his mind. They pounded in his skull like the challenging drumbeat that announced a battle, and he shot up from the couch. If he was going to survive, and find his own hope, and make Serah happy, he had some serious work to do – starting with an attitude adjustment. There was no time to waste. Hope jogged to the bedroom and dug through his drawer, laying out the standard cargo pants and t-shirt he wore around the house. He stripped off the button-up shirt and slacks, hoping to goodness he wouldn't have to wear them again for a very long time, and pulled on his comfortable clothes with a sigh of relief.

First things first, Hope snatched the spare toolkit hidden under the dresser and rifled through its contents. He had no idea what he was going to do, but he figured there had to be a number of projects waiting to be discovered in the house. Was the faucet leaking? Had any of the lights shorted out? Inspiration hit him the minute his fingers touched the tape measure, and he rushed downstairs to the basement.

He knew what he had to do. There was no one better equipped to start casing the room for its kitchen potential, and there was no better time to do it.

* * *

Ann kicked Serah out of the clinic early, her words immutable.

"If Hope takes this treatment tomorrow and something goes wrong," she warned sternly, "I'm not going to be the evil doctor who 'contributed to his initial stress factor' by keeping you at work. Now, go home!" Then, the tiny woman all but shoved her protégé out the door.

Serah shuddered once before she hurried down the street toward the commercial district, disturbed by the doubts still swirling in her head but determined to support Hope's wishes nonetheless. He had been miserable the day before, cooped up in the house under her orders, and she knew he wouldn't be doing any better after the funeral that morning. With that, she decided to swing by the market for some necessary grocery items and a little something extra – perhaps something like circus peanuts. Tomorrow would be spaghetti night, and she had to hope that they would be happily eating together as a normal, healthy family.

She was sorting through a few small boxes of pasta in one of the arrow aisles when something colorful caught her eye. On a whim, she snatched the package, which turned out to be an assortment of tiny water balloons.

Those went into the shopping basket as well.

Serah thought about what to do with her odd purchase all the way home, and when she arrived at the door, she didn't bother knocking or ringing the bell to announce herself. She crept in quietly instead, peeking into the living room only to find it empty. Scraping and bumping sounds that echoed up the lit stairwell told her that Hope had ended up in the basement, doing Maker knew what, so she quietly put away her groceries in the cabinet next to the coffee bar and took the package of balloons to the laundry room.

_Why am I doing this? Sis would be glaring her brains out at me right now…_

Still, she worked away undisturbed for a solid half hour. The utility sink was full to the brim with colorful, loaded water bombs when she finally finished. She snatched one – an almost perfectly round, green balloon – and headed for the stairwell.

Serah didn't enter the basement with the general intention of causing trouble, despite the water balloon cupped in the hand behind her back. No, she was looking for a specific reason to use her weapon. It was usually easy to find one with Hope.

This time proved to be no exception. Squinting through the settling dust, Serah could see what looked like a chalk diagram covering the lefthand wall of the basement and wrapping around the far corner. But that wasn't really the issue. What captured her attention was a massive, jagged tear along the wall exposing a line of pipe near the ceiling.

And there, standing on a chair with his hands on that pipe, was Hope.

"Hope, what are you up to?" Serah called across the basement in a sing-song tone, still concealing the water balloon. The suddenness of her voice in the quiet room made him whip around and wobble on the chair. He jumped off before it could become a fall.

Brushing off a layer of chalk dust, Hope not so calmly explained, "Oh, nothing much. Just taking some measurements, working out some arrangement ideas..." He paused, looking down at his boots as he scuffed the floor. "Not that we can do the remodeling down here anytime soon. We need a lot of parts, for one."

Serah slowly walked over to where he stood in front of the wall of diagrams – at a closer glance they looked like dimensions for different cabinet spaces or appliances, and she thought back to her kitchen request. But none of that explained the shredded plaster above Hope's designs.

Hands firmly in check behind her back, Serah looked up at Hope skeptically. "So that's why you ripped a gash in the wall? I'm pretty sure we're nowhere near ready to start gutting the place."

"Yeah, about that," Hope muttered, rubbing his hair and sending up a cloud of dust around his head. "I kinda wanted to see where the waterline would be coming in. Sorry for making a mess… again."

"Oh, it's not a big deal." As she backed away from the scene, Serah was imagining how hilarious his powdery face was about to look. She took only a few paces, pretending to be absorbed in the diagrams and the pipe, until Hope finally faced the wall himself out of curiosity over what had captured her attention.

And then, she took aim. The swollen balloon soared high and fast to burst against the pipe exactly as she had intended, sending out a spray of water all over the front side of her target. Hope froze for a moment before he turned around, his mystified face streaked with water that dribbled off his chin.

"Wh-what—?" Hope stammered. He was just too stunned to move.

Serah doubled over, somehow overcoming her laughter to exclaim, "Well it looks like we have a leak! Bet there's more where that came from!" She turned and fled up the stairwell, racing faster when she heard footfalls in pursuit.

It was after she skidded around the corner in a mad dash for the laundry room that Serah was forced to come to terms with the one shortcoming of her game:

Hope was faster.

She was suddenly tackled from behind, spun around and left in the dust as he overtook her, making a beeline for the utility sink. Not five seconds later, one water bomb exploded at her feet while another broke against the wall and drenched her entire left side. Serah shrieked and jumped back, glaring at Hope where he leaned against the doorway in defense of the laundry room, tossing another balloon up and down in his hand.

"Now, this really isn't fair," he said with a smirk. "Even if you did start this war, I'd hate to waste all the ammunition in a one-sided slaughter. Let's make this spot the reload station, but we can only stage attacks in the basement or the yard. Sound good?"

Serah crossed her arms defiantly. "I can handle that. Two-at-a-time limit?"

"Right, so you'd better make every shot count," Hope declared, grabbing his second balloon and running out the back door.

From there, Serah prepared to do battle. It turned out that scrubs and sneakers were ideal for a water balloon fight when it came to comfort, but that didn't do much to help her cause. Hope had a nasty habit of dodging her throws at the last second by diving into the dirt, and she just wasn't that willing to make a mud-pie of herself.

Of course, it happened anyway after a couple of rounds, and she played dirty in other ways as well.

During round three, she had a brilliant idea. Hope had nailed her with a shot from behind one of the pieces of crumbling debris that littered the yard, and she went down hard on purpose, cradling her ankle in her hands. The instant he stepped out from cover to see what was wrong, she bombarded the rock pile at his feet with both of her balloons and sprinted out of range.

All in all, it took about an hour for them to use up the balloon supply across both battlefronts. The final round of chase turned into another basement siege, which had proven more challenging than the open yard setup. Victory consistently hinged on who made it into the basement first, and this time, it was Hope. Serah knew that if she dared to go down the stairs, she would be toast. On the flip side, if Hope ventured too close to the stairwell, she would have the uphill advantage for raining down her water bombs. But the chances of him making that mistake were slim.

Particularly since it had turned into a taunting match.

"Can't hang around the edge of the battlefield forever, little birdie!" Hope called out, the mocking words at odds with his pleasant tenor voice ringing through the basement. "What are you, a baby vulture?"

Serah could hear him prowling around, waiting patiently. She crouched at the top of the stairwell, anxiously flexing her fingers around the balloon in each hand, and retorted, "Why don't you come closer and find out for yourself, scaredy cat? I don't have all day!"

Laughter echoed from below before Hope scoffed again, "Well, maybe I will! You've worn yourself out anyway – I doubt you could hit me from all the way up the stairs."

Serah narrowed her eyes at that, not wanting to hold back any longer. "I'll show you who's worn out!" she growled, recklessly charging down the stairwell. By some miracle, Hope's first throw was too early and too low on the wall to do much good, so Serah vaulted over the splatter zone to the base of the stairs and managed to land a toss at his feet. Her second throw, however, missed him by a long shot to burst against the back wall, and that gave Hope a one-balloon advantage in the wide open basement. Serah knew he would take his time aiming that final throw, so she immediately turned tail and rushed for the stairs again, hoping for a dry escape.

Not only was that a ludicrous plan, but Hope's own actions went beyond what Serah could have anticipated or avoided. He didn't take his time aiming, nor did he stop at the base of the stairs. He ran after her instead and easily overtook her at the stairwell entry, just on the edge of the landing's safe zone, his hand catching the back of her scrubs shirt before both of them slipped on the smooth floor and wiped out. Hope twisted around and landed first, breaking some of Serah's fall on the way down – at least enough for her head to land on his stomach. But even then, after they lay sprawled on their backs making a T-shaped mudprint on the floor, Hope just bit a hole near the base of his remaining water bomb and squeezed the full contents of the bright red balloon directly on Serah's face. The best she could do in defense was to catch some water in her mouth.

"I… win," Hope panted, "so that means… you have to mop."

Serah turned her head and spit the water at him. Recovering her composure after a few coughs, she refuted, "I never said that was part of the arrangement!"

"Of course you didn't – losers can't make conditions of defeat," he declared with a grin that was no less smug for the water splotches on the dirt around it.

Serah propped herself up on her elbows and glared mockingly at him. "But you didn't win. You're disqualified for attacking outside of a warzone."

"Hey, I deserved a freebie," Hope replied. He put his hands behind his head and adopted a very convincing wounded look, his green eyes glistening. "You ambushed me in the basement first. I was defenseless."

"Aw, poor Hope got splashed," Serah teased, rubbing his sticky hair into a bigger mess. "I feel so guilty."

Suddenly, the front door swung open and a massive shadow covered the entryway. There stood Snow, trenchcoat in one hand while he stared down at the two muddy persons on the landing with his jaw on the floor, and he continued to stand frozen in bewilderment for several seconds. Hope tilted his head back to look directly up at the man, and then brought his wristwatch around to check it.

"Yep, it's about that time," Hope remarked. "Hiya, Snow." By way of explanation, he held up his deflated water balloon and waved it like a flag.

Serah also lifted one muddy hand and explained, "Sorry about the mess, Snow. It's my fault for starting it, but I'll clean everything up in no time. Promise!"

Snow pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head, hanging his trenchcoat on one of the pegs by the door. "What on Pulse did you start? Indoor mud-wrestling?"

Serah pulled at her mud-splattered scrubs self-consciously, but Hope just laughed and answered for her, "Hell no! It was only a water balloon fight."

"Man, I am way too tired for this," Snow muttered as he stepped over Serah's legs and stalked through the living room. "I'll be in the shower."

Hope sat up from the floor and turned his questioning eyes from Snow to Serah.

"Was it something I said?"

"No," Serah sighed. "I think he just had a long day."

_That or I'm in the doghouse for this._

* * *

Cleaning the house was a cinch, with Serah tackling the hallway, laundry room, and landing while Hope handled the basement. Once his task was complete, Hope took a long look at his miraculously undamaged wall diagrams, wondering again if he would get the chance to make those plans reality. That line of thinking seemed pointless, though. Hope tore his eyes from the wall, secured his rolled-up cargo pants and splashed off his bare feet before mopping up that final puddle. Satisfied, he hauled his mop and bucket back upstairs.

Serah was already in the shower when Hope reentered the living room, where Snow lay dozing on the couch in his boxers.

_Is that really necessary?_ Hope thought, shrugging as he passed by on his way to the laundry room. He dumped the bucket of dirty water into the sink and rinsed out the mop, setting them both aside to shed his thoroughly dirtied clothes for the next wash load. They were still flaking mud here and there – hardly suited for a trip across the living room.

_Guess I'm not one to judge after all. _Looking down at his boxer-clad state, he decided it would be better to camp in the laundry room for a while. In the meantime, he spotted Serah's scrubs draped across the dryer, so he rinsed and loaded them into the washing machine, doing the same with his own things. He added the detergent, started the cycle… It was simple, mindless work and the churning machine was almost soothing. Hope finally slid down to the floor and leaned back against the washer, stretching his legs out in front of him and closing his eyes. He couldn't believe how tired and sore he felt.

_Maybe Serah was right. Maybe I did need more rest, before tomorrow. _

* * *

Serah giggled to herself at the sight of Hope curled up on the laundry room floor, mud still caked in his hair while he cradled the box of detergent in his arms. She knelt on the floor beside him.

"Wake up, sleepyhead," she said softly, placing a hand on his cheek.

_If everything goes right tomorrow, I can keep you safe a little longer._

Hope shuddered in his sleep but did gradually awaken, groaning and rubbing crusted dirt from his eyes. "Oh hey, Serah," he mumbled with a lopsided grin. "Guess I needed a nap."

"Not quite as much as you need a shower," Serah quipped, helping him to his feet only to gently shove him into the hallway with a towel.

* * *

For Hope, the rest of the evening felt disjointed and unreal. Dinner was too quiet – primarily because Snow was too quiet – and Hope didn't feel like eating much as it was. Not once his nerves began to kick in, and kick in they certainly did, the more he thought about what would happen the next morning. He wasn't afraid that the treatment was going to do something terrible to him. He was afraid that it wouldn't do anything at all.

And if it did nothing, there would not be a second chance for him to stop the time-bomb of a relapse from setting off. That thought was almost unbearable.

It was obvious that Serah knew he was troubled. She delayed, and had some tea, and delayed some more when the tea got cold, but eventually Snow pestered her into going to bed. Hope was, not surprisingly, left alone in the dark living room to face his own demons.

So he did the only thing he could do – he bravely planted his face on the pillow and tried to dream of a brighter future.

* * *

One long, nightmare-infested night and dragging, caffeine-free morning later, Hope sat semi-inclined on one of the patient beds, blinking his still unbelieving eyes. He'd finally come face to face with the key to that brighter future.

There it was in Serah's hands – a perfectly ordinary syringe full of a golden liquid that had the potential to save his life, and the lives of other patients. Even though he knew it wasn't proven or perfect, just being there in the clinic hooked up to the IV made the treatment seem so official, so promising. It had been quite a while since his awful bout with the virus, but the memories were sharp. He never wanted to feel that way again.

_Serah doesn't want that either, and I trust her more than anyone._

"Hope," she said softly, following his intensely focused eyes to the syringe she was holding, "you know you don't have to do this. It's okay if you're having second thoughts."

Hope blinked rapidly and snapped his eyes back to her worried face, forcing a little smile when he insisted, "I'm not having second thoughts. Let's do this."

"Alright then, if you're sure." Squeezing his hand in a last little gesture of comfort, Serah turned to the IV setup. She injected the treatment into the port, and Hope felt his heart begin to race when he watched the yellowish fluid running through the tubing and into his arm.

The procedure was done much more quickly than he'd expected. What took longer was the full six hours of monitoring afterward to make sure there were no unusual changes in any of his vitals. And at the end of it all, in a very anticlimactic fashion, nothing did change – Hope felt absolutely the same.

Which was, according to Serah, absolutely wonderful. "Well you weren't feeling sick when we went in," she chattered excitedly on the walk home from the clinic, latching onto his arm, "so the best result we could've hoped for is a lack of response. If you'd gone in with dizziness or a weird headache or something, maybe then we would've looked for an improvement."

"Whatever you say – you're the expert," Hope conceded. He still felt tired from having to lie around all day in the clinic, but that was perfectly normal. Smiling, he pulled Serah along and quickened their pace to get home early for dinner preparations.

Serah laughed and jogged to keep up. "Wow, you must really wanna get away from the clinic! You know you have to go back for a follow-up in the morning, so there's no use in rushing off."

"Please don't remind me," Hope sighed, absently flexing the arm that bore a small bruise from the IV. He hated the lingering feeling that something was still under his skin – a feeling that didn't subside even as they reached the house.

Still, Serah's enthusiasm was infectious, and there was spaghetti night to look forward to. Hope bounded ahead of her to get the front door.

It was an odd experience to reach for the knob and have the door instantly swing open – which had Hope on his guard – and it was even odder to find that Snow had beaten them home. But there he stood, looming large in the doorway with a triumphant grin. Hope raised an eyebrow at the sight.

Mainly because, oddest of all, the man was wearing an apron. His apron.

"Surprised?" he said, ruffling Hope's hair and quickly edging past him to lead Serah inside by the hand.

Hope already felt a string of questions on the tip of his tongue by the time he'd closed the door behind him, but he only let one of them slip. "What's with the apron? It's not like you could've started without Serah…"

As soon as he said it, he realised the pointlessness in asking that. Snow could do whatever he wanted, which included trying to cook as well as ignoring the stupid question, and Hope had absolutely no way to gauge the likelihood of Snow's success in his culinary attempt without seeing the result. Fortunately, it didn't smell like anything was burning.

_I guess I never asked him if he cooked, but that still doesn't change the fact that he won't make spaghetti the same way Serah and I always do._

No amount of speculation or understanding would help the loss of their usual routine. When Hope walked into the living room, he saw that the noodles were already starting to boil in a pot on the hotplate, and that single fact had made him useless. If Snow had also ventured to make the sauce, Serah would have nothing to do herself.

That didn't turn out to be the case, as Snow was all too happy to let Serah work on the sauce over a second hotplate while he monitored the boiling pot of noodles. He became so absorbed in standing there watching her as she browned the onions and added ingredients, sprinkling little touches of spice here and there, that he forgot all about the pasta until it was about to boil over. His only response was to turn down the temperature a little, but the noodles were likely done.

"You aren't even measuring it," Snow remarked in awe, sniffing the steam that wafted above the masterpiece his fiancée was crafting before he wrapped an arm around her. "It smells amazing, though. How do you do it?"

Hope rolled his eyes, not that the two of them were looking at him anyway. Serah just smiled and touched the spoon to Snow's nose, leaving a little blob of red sauce there. "It isn't a magic trick. I've been working on this recipe for a while now – lots of trial and error."

It was difficult for Hope to avoid wallowing in nostalgia when he thought about how true that was. He couldn't count the number of times he had been the test subject of Serah's cooking, though he had vivid memories of his tongue being burned by insanely hot peppers or blasted with too much onion a time or two. From start to finish, he had witnessed the unfolding of her special spaghetti recipe – seen it take on creative twists when certain ingredients were in short supply, or when she felt like experimenting with something new. It was a wonder that she'd never made a truly inedible batch. Most had been delicious.

_I doubt any of her success was my doing…_

The wheeze of steam and the hiss of water spilling from the boiling pot brought Hope back down from his cloud of memories to a state of irritation.

_But at least I never forgot about the noodles._

Crossing to Snow and Serah from his post as observant third wheel on the couch, Hope snatched two potholders and grabbed the heavy pot of water and noodles from the hotplate beside Snow. "Give me this," he muttered, carrying the pot back to the utility sink to drain the noodles.

"Thanks, Hope!" he heard Serah call after him, as if nothing was any different than usual.

And that, of all things, was fundamentally wrong. For the first time, Hope was in a position to no longer be a burden because of his fugitive status, his age, his inexperience or his medical condition. If the treatment really yielded results, he would finally have everything together.

Just in time for Serah to have no more need of him, it seemed.

* * *

Hope twirled another noodle around his fork and dragged it through the sauce, thankful that Snow had not, for all his efforts, ruined the spaghetti. He was nowhere near full, but his growing state of annoyance and its accompanying headache demanded that it be his last bite.

Across the coffee table from where Hope sat on a cushion on the floor, Snow had not ceased chattering at Serah. It was as if the man hadn't talked to her in a week, which Hope felt sure was impossible, and he couldn't get his head around why Snow was asking her such a multitude of questions while she should've been enjoying her dinner.

Glancing again from Serah's barely touched plate back to her face as she nodded and elaborated on some new detail from her workday, Hope decided he really needed to say something.

"Hey, Snow," he started in, wiping his hands on a napkin rather than aiming his critical eyes at the source of his irritation when he spoke, "do you plan on letting Serah eat before her food gets cold?"

Both of them immediately faced him, Serah looking a little stunned while Snow just narrowed his eyes and almost frowned. He actually seemed put out, and that was strange to see on his face – the closest to that expression Hope had ever witnessed from Snow was frustration.

Snow recovered quickly enough to look at Serah's plate and confirm the vailidity of the accusation. He stared at his fiancée and asked instantly, "Serah, why aren't you eating? You don't have to pay all your attention to me talkin' away, you know."

"Oh no, it's not a big deal," Serah protested, waving it off with a hand. "I'm not really all that hungry. I can just pack this up in a container for later." She smiled and made a little show of scraping her spaghetti into a single, tidy mountain on the plate, then set her fork aside.

Hope was not buying that. He looked her directly in the eyes and said plainly, "You're kidding, right? We both know you love spaghetti, and there's no reason to be extra accommodating when you'd rather just eat."

For a fleeting moment, he could see the conflict on her face – she was caught in a cover-up and she knew it. But then her expression took on a defiant edge and she stood suddenly, picking up her plate. "I'm going to put this in the fridge."

Both Hope and Snow watched in stunned silence when she left the room. Snow leaned back against the couch cushions, resting his head against his palms. He chuckled to himself.

"Gotta watch what you say, little bro. That woman gets pretty ruffled when you call her bluff outright."

"You think I don't know that?" Hope muttered, mindlessly fishing his fork around in the remaining spaghetti on his plate. He was starting to feel insulted.

Snow merely laughed again. "If you know so much, I can't see why you'd get on her case like that."

"Maybe because I'm not afraid to rub her the wrong way." The instant the words left his mouth, Hope regretted their effect. He could sense the resentment he actually felt radiating full force through his eyes and entire being, and Snow's immediate reaction only confirmed its visibility.

Snow sat up straight and crossed his arms over his chest, intense blue eyes aflame when he contested, "No, I think it's because you don't have to face the music. Make her mad, and you can run away to your little hangar for a while or take off on another supply trip, no harm done. She's over it before you get back, right?"

"How can you say that?" Hope blurted incredulously, relinquishing his fork so it couldn't become a projectile. He grabbed onto the edge of the coffee table in self-restraint. "You really think it's that easy for me to leave? I hate to see Serah upset, and I hate it even more when I know she's lonely. But I guess I can't expect you to understand that – not after you've been here all of two months. You couldn't possibly know what she's been through."

"I'd get it a hell of a lot better if she'd tell me!" Snow growled. He slammed one fist against the couch and added bitterly, "Not sure what I did to deserve being left out of everything, but here I am! Sitting right outside her precious circle of confidence like I chose to just abandon her for the last three years. I watch her worry herself into total silence when you're gone somewhere, and then I watch her recover, without any explanation, after you come back. And it almost gets worse from there because of all your little rituals – I mean, it blows my mind how she'll let you brush and braid her hair but not even trust me to take it down. I just don't get it."

_Ungrateful man. You have the love of your life, and that one little thing gets under your skin?_

Hope had heard enough. He got to his feet and glowered down at Snow, practically tasting the acid in his own voice when he said, "It's simple. You have to _earn_ that trust. Somehow, you've missed the fact that I spent the last two and a half years making up for what Serah lost. Do you have any idea how much I had to try and fail to be you? To be Lightning? I know I can't blame you for being stuck in crystalstasis, but that doesn't give you the right to act like you can ever understand what Serah or any of the rest of us have survived. You weren't here! And you can't just swoop in and make it all right this time, _Hero_. I've done everything I could for her, but now_ you_— you want to take away the only family I have without even trying!"

At those words, Snow's eyes went wide. He leaned back and just stared up at Hope with his mouth slightly agape as if he had seen some revelation on his face. The sudden silence and lack of response was unnerving, so rather than stand there like a fool Hope stalked out of the living room and headed for the door.

Serah's voice from the hallway stopped him for a moment when his hand hit the knob. "Hope, where are you going?" she called out, obviously concerned.

_No possible way she wasn't listening._

"Just the hanger," Hope replied shortly, and he was out the door before she could try convincing him to stay.

* * *

"Maybe I should go talk to him," Serah suggested. She sank down on the couch in defeat, already starting to space out.

_Maker, I really don't want them fighting about silly things like hair-braiding or water balloon fights. I guess I should've seen it coming…_

Snow scooted over and pulled her into his side. When Serah looked up at him, she couldn't read much from his serious expression, but she understood plenty from the coldness in his words.

"I don't think so. He'll come back when he's over himself," Snow said, his eyes hardened to steel again. "It's not your responsibility, and it's not like he's gonna cry himself to sleep in the hangar because his feelings got hurt."

A little squeak of indignation was all that escaped Serah, as she caught herself before flying into a rant and saying more than necessary. She was still rather taken aback by Snow's harshness, though, and she pulled out of his grasp, straightening her shoulders.

"He is both of our responsibility!" she snapped. "But if you honestly think it would be better to leave him be, I can't exactly question that reasoning."

Snow shrugged, standing to gather up the dishes on the coffee table.

"Good. Just do me a favor and quit worrying about it for now, okay?"

_You want me to do the impossible?_

Sighing, she finally conceded, "Alright, I'll work on it."

* * *

Hope wasn't quite sure why he'd rolled under the transport in the first place. He lay on the creeper, staring up at the jumble of wiring within the panel he had opened, but for some reason it just wasn't making any sense to him. He reached up to trace a thumb and forefinger along one of the colored wires aimlessly, his tired eyes clouding over before he let his hand fall down to rest on his stomach again.

_This is impossible._

Rubbing his temples, Hope grimaced at a sudden, throbbing ache. His thoughts were even more tangled than the circuitry, twisting around each other with a live end here and there that would spark and send a sharp pain reverberating through his head at increasingly frequent intervals.

_I just don't get it_, he thought, mentally playing over the events of the last two days for the hundredth time. _Serah already gives him anything he wants, whenever he wants it – companionship, support, all of herself. Now it sounds like Snow won't be satisfied unless she stops paying attention to my needs, period. _

_But… it makes me so happy to see her. I feel like I can keep hoping and moving toward another day. Isn't that a good thing? Or does that mean I'm a parasite, a person who has to feed off someone else's existence to survive? A liability…_

Hope covered his face with his gloved hands and whispered desperately, "I can't be like that. I can't!"

When Hope uncovered his eyes to see blurred double images of the wiring above, he felt sure the universe was against him. The sight raised alarms about the nature of his worsening headache, and the pressure between his ears was beginning to take on an audible buzz, growing to be so loud that all other residual noise in the hangar faded to nothing. Suddenly distressed, Hope was determined to get out from under the ship while he still had the chance, but his limbs were stiff and sore when he attempted to roll the creeper out, and his head felt like it weighed a ton. As he strained his neck to lift that burden, tremendous pain shot through his skull and almost blacked out his vision.

Hope barely clung to consciousness after that. Images of blood painting the dirt, of ravenous beasts and explosions swirled behind his eyelids, and he truly wondered if he was going to die then and there – not having saved anyone in some selfless act, but simply lying there alone under the transport. In the last moments of gasping and shaking with his useless hands against the cold floor, he did the only thing he could think of to avoid that meaningless fate. He focused on his pulse and tried to count his way out of the panic.

_One… _

Hoping was not a curse.

_Two… _

Something had to be guaranteed.

_Three…_

Survival was possible, even after the void swallowed him whole.

Even after he didn't feel a thing.


	17. Imagination

**A/N: Well, this is RIDICULOUSLY late for an update, and while I can blame the Navy primarily, I also have to take some of the responsibility myself for making a couple of choices to entertain 'distractions' (namely, reading the Hunger Games trilogy three times over and playing FFXIII-2 pretty extensively). All that and a large helping of writer's block. But at long last, here is the update! There are still a couple of chapters to go, so stay tuned. **** Thanks again to all my wonderful readers out there who have somehow not given up on me yet. Consider this chapter a special present (because, as chapters go, this one IS rather special, and you'll see why). ON WITH THE SHOW!**

Imagination (disappears)

The buzz of Serah's communicator easily woke her from fitful sleep at a very dark, early hour. She grabbed the communicator and answered hoarsely, "Hello?"

"Serah, that you?" Sazh said in a strained voice. "Sorry to be wakin' you like this – it's Sazh. Now don't panic, but I-I found Hope under the transport this morning. I couldn't get him up, and he was running a bad fever, so I called the med response team. I knew you'd want to get over to the clinic quick as you could."

Her chest tightened up, and Serah was barely able to choke out, "When did you find him?"

"'Bout ten minutes ago. The team oughtta be here any second now," Sazh explained, clearly working hard to stay calm.

"O-okay," Serah stammered. She felt herself shift from being unable to breathe to nearly hyperventilating, and she fumbled with the communicator while throwing off the covers to clamber out of bed. "I'm up, just—stay on the line."

"You got it."

Not ten seconds later, Sazh announced with relief, "Alright, the team's here! I'm gonna get off the radio and help 'em. See you at the clinic!"

"Thanks, Sazh!" Serah snapped the communicator shut and darted across the room, tripping over clothes on the floor before she reached the dresser and grabbed the first scrubs available.

"What's going on?" Snow asked sleepily, finally awakened by the disturbance. He sat up and blinked his confused eyes at Serah.

_At this point, he really does need to know._

"I'm going to the clinic, right now. Hope's being taken there and he's in bad shape, so I suggest you come with me," she explained, her fears beginning to be consumed in the familiar rush of emergency response.

Snow didn't have to be told twice. As if he really understood the full urgency of the situation, he jumped out of bed and got ready right alongside Serah, not even questioning her until they had already run out the front door.

"So, what happened?" Snow finally asked as they jogged down the darkened street toward the commercial district, guided by the scattered lamps of a few buildings.

Breathing hard from the exertion and smothered anxiety, Serah explained in snatches, "Hope didn't… want to tell you, but… he's very sick. You'll just have to… see for yourself."

Snow only nodded once, and they continued to run on in silence.

* * *

"Hey, wake up." Someone was prodding his arm – methodically, as if the rhythm and number of pokes could ensure success.

_Four, five, six…_

"Come on. I could use an explanation."

The stern, female voice was startling to Hope, familiar but far-removed. He blinked at endless whiteness above and sat up in bewilderment only to see more of the same. Nothing hurt – most remarkably not his head – which defied all logic. Not that anything about the situation made sense.

"I'm over here," she said again, and a hand waved in front of his face. Hope turned to see none other than Lightning crouched there, every bit the same as he recalled, from the brass knuckles on her glove in the center of his vision to her frighteningly intense eyes that demanded an answer.

"H-how—?" Hope stammered in utter disbelief. He pulled at his clothing and even pinched his arm, but for all intents and purposes it seemed that he was not dreaming. Even if they happened to be sitting in a white void.

Lightning tilted her head to the side, regarding him with her brow creased in concentration. "You… look a lot like someone I used to know. But that can't be possible."

"Light, it _is_ me!" Hope blurted in disbelief. "I don't know why I'm here, but I swear I really am Hope – the person you're talking about." He dug around in his pockets and produced the turquoise bandanna, holding it out for her.

Turning the fabric over in her hands, Lightning still looked skeptical when she appraised him a second time. "Pretty convincing, I'll admit. Even if you're Hope, though, you can't possibly be fourteen."

"Of course not," Hope explained matter-of-factly. "You've been in crystalstasis for three years already, but I haven't."

"What?" A shock of understanding passed through Lightning, and she opened her mouth in surprise. "I-I had no idea. But if that's true, how did you even get to this place?"

"Your guess is as good as mine." Hope shrugged and smiled, happy to at least see her – if she was, in fact, there – but unsure what was to be done. He ventured tentatively, "Well… since we're here, I'd like to ask you something."

Lightning only blinked at the request, her expression unchanged. "Go ahead."

"Okay," Hope began, scratching at the back of his head as he shifted his eyes nervously. "I just wondered if-if this is the sort of thing you dream in stasis. Do you dream about fighting, or your family… or about me, ever? Is that what you're doing now?" The soldier's scrutinizing gaze softened in recognition of his fidgety shyness, and she even smiled.

"Getting bold, huh," Lightning remarked, ruffling his short mop of silver hair. "I've dreamed about all of that and more. It's been like running through a mix of scenes, like someone spliced hundreds of clips from my life at random into one endless obstacle course for me to do over. Right now, though… this is… different. I've dreamed of my hometown before because of all the memories there, but I can't figure out why only you showed up this time, much less why you're _older_."

Hope considered her words, thinking back to his last moments before unconsciousness, and for the first time he felt a twinge of fear.

_Am I dead? No, Light's in a state of suspended life. She wouldn't be here if I had died. Unless she isn't real. And I don't see what she's talking about – definitely no sign of her 'hometown' in this place._

As no other logical solution presented itself, he decided to just ask the dream Lightning for her thoughts, hoping that her assessment of their situation would be as sound as her Lightning-like behavior so far.

"Light," he began, fumbling as she fixed her keen stare on him, "w-what do you think happened, then?"

"I honestly don't know. For now, I'm calling it a glitch," she said plainly. Lightning took another look around and raised a hand to shield her eyes from a nonexistent sun, apparently catching sight of something far away in the whiteness. She stood to her feet and dusted herself off as if preparing to head for that invisible destination. "Let's just move."

"Move where?" Hope asked, puzzled by what seemed like a futile suggestion from the always practical soldier.

Pointing toward whatever she had seen, Lightning sounded the slightest bit impatient when she explained, "We're going to the other end of the beach. My house is over there."

Hope stared intensely to where she pointed, but he honestly saw nothing in the endless blank void.

"Light, I don't understand. What beach?"

* * *

By the time Serah and Snow charged into the clinic, Hope had already been rushed in and set up in the far back room – the one reserved for serious cases that would require extended stay. Normally, a teenager with a high fever, even an unconscious one, wouldn't have automatically raised such alarm, but the staff was well aware that he had been part of the experimental treatment group.

And based on what Serah heard from the tense conversation between the response team and the doctor on call, this had been the first adverse reaction anyone had seen.

"Serah, thank god!" the young doctor called out the instant he caught sight of her. Vin was the newest member on their staff, and despite having the background of an internship from Cocoon, he had handled far fewer virus cases than Ann or Serah – it was showing worse than usual. His face had gone ghostly pale, and he rushed across the room toward Serah as if missing her would be missing the lifeboat. He captured her hands in a death grip.

"Serah, he didn't take any more medications, did he? And was there any possibility of an allergic reaction? Because I've never seen anything like this! It's like it _triggered_ the dormant virus instead of retarding it," Vin blurted in a panic, struggling to keep his voice down. The way his jet black hair stuck out in messy spikes gave the impression that his nervous thoughts were leaking through his scalp.

Serah wriggled her hands free and took his shoulders, explaining as calmly as she could, "Look, he didn't take any medications, and we checked thoroughly for any possible allergens in the treatment. We just need to take this one step at a time – we'll treat it like any other relapse case and try to figure out what went wrong, alright?"

Vin nodded slowly as he let that sink in, the bristly tufts of hair seeming to relax a bit as well, and Serah immediately turned to grab a new pair of latex gloves from the shelf to her right, snapping them on and walking over to the bedside.

Behind them, Snow was still standing by and trying to make sense of the situation, his eyes troubled when he looked past her to focus on the object of everyone's concern. Hope nearly blended in to the white clinic sheets, attached to the IV and monitors in preparation for what could be days or weeks of battle for his recovery. It was a familiar sight to Serah, but her fiance wasn't taking it terribly well. He had the dazed look that often signaled oncoming shock.

"Serah," Snow said, catching her arm with a slight, passing tremor in his hand, "is he that bad?"

"Give me ten minutes." She freed her arm to check Hope's vitals in the usual routine, coming out more disconcerted than before. The fever had been expected, but his breathing was so shallow that she could barely perceive the slightest rise of his chest, and his pulse was far too weak under her fingers.

_I can barely feel it._

It only got worse after they placed the sensors for neural imaging, which showed a frenzy of activity – clearly hostile activity – roiling on the monitor in reddish colors over the same regions she had last noted the virus to be active. The best explanation she could deduce from the evidence was too frightening to say aloud. At a glance, it seemed that Hope's body was shutting down, retreating in on itself so that the virus couldn't feed off its activity, but the virus was clearly thriving in spite of the effort and driving his temperature into the red. There was no telling how dangerously far his body would go to keep fighting.

Objectively, the signs left her with only one course of action – Hope would have to be completely comatose in order to stop the process, and then externally sustained to survive. If that even panned out.

"Serah," Snow asked again, standing beside her with his hands balled into tight fists, "how bad is it?"

The anguish Serah saw on his face when she turned to answer was more terrifying than even Hope's near-lifeless body. Snow had likely never felt, much less _shown_, that level of fear in all the time she had known him. His eyes said there was nothing he could do, and he knew it. She hadn't the slightest idea what to say.

Serah looked away from her fiance's tormented face, scribbling a few instructions on a clipboard to give to Vin for the next set of procedures.

"Snow, just—go wait with Sazh, outside," she said quietly. "It'll be a while."

_Trust me, I would rather not do this._

* * *

Hope shuffled along uncomfortably as Lightning led the way to her home, wherever that was. After he finished trying unsuccessfully to explain that he really couldn't see anything she described, even if he could see _her_, the stubborn soldier had continued forward in a huff and he had decided to follow along. After all, whether or not she really was taking him anywhere real, it would be best to stick together. The thought of being left alone in the void was already terrifying.

There were some intriguing developments in their trek, though. Somewhere along the way, Hope noticed that his labored steps were actually being caused by the environment. It felt like he was dragging his feet through sand.

And trailing on the heels of that revelation, he began to see the blurry impression of color underfoot.

"Light!" he exclaimed, digging his boots in the golden sand. "I see it now! The beach, I mean." When he looked up, fuzzy blue waves formed a short distance to their left, coming into slightly better focus a few seconds later.

"This is Bodhum, then?"

Lightning finally noticed that he had stopped, and instead of spouting sarcasm or showing aggravation over his pointless excitement, she gave him a thoughtful look. "Yes, it is. You really didn't see it before?" she asked, her tone a mixture of surprise and worry.

"No," he said, stopping short on further defense as he spotted a shiny, oblong structure not far off behind Lightning, a little too conspicuously isolated from the many other watercolor-quality homes visible in the direction they were headed. He smiled suddenly.

_That one has got to be hers._

"Hey, I think I see your house now, too."

Apparently satisfied with the state of things, Lightning turned to lead them on, and Hope's interaction with the surroundings gradually became about as true to life as an impressionistic painting. When he saw her house in closer detail, he laughed out loud and exclaimed, "Oh wow – it looks like a giant peanut!"

_Seriously – those dimples along the surface must be windows, but who could tell?_

"You have a problem with peanuts?" Lightning remarked dryly, not deterred from the path. For some reason, that only prolonged his amusement.

"I don't have a problem with peanuts," he half-choked, "but I don't like them enough to_ live_ in one!"

Soon enough, they stood in front of the metallic legume itself. As Lightning unlocked the front door and stepped inside, she said simply, "This house is very functional. I couldn't care less about how it looks on the outside."

Hope just sighed, still smirking. There would be no arguing that point.

After he had taken off his boots and really got a good look at the inside of the house, he honestly didn't feel the need to argue, anyway. Like so many houses that he could remember from Cocoon, its furnishings were modern and streamlined, but the overall impression of Lightning's house was different. It seemed much larger than it really was – a classic example of high ceilings and open concept with the spaces flowing together, and unlike his parents' home, it didn't need the reflective windows to give the impression of size. All the blinds were down, but the living area still felt like an exhibition hall. Combined with the hazy edging of his dream-vision and the waning daylight, it held the ambiance of a candle-lit room.

"Hope, I could use a hand," Lightning called, and he clamped his staggered mouth shut to face her for instruction. "Open those windows by the bookcase – it's almost sunset."

Nodding, Hope jogged across the springy carpet and raised the four sets of blinds on the west-facing windows, squinting when brilliant orange rays of sun flashed in his eyes. Over the many semi-reflective roofs of indistinct seaside villas, he could see the blinding white line that marked the collision of waves with the shore.

Its sudden sharpness sent a brief stab of pain to his head, but it quickly diminished when he turned his eyes back to the velvet-edged room. Just around the corner, Lightning returned from the adjacent kitchen with what looked like a frosted masterpiece.

Hope focused with effort on the somewhat blurry object gripped in the sharp relief of Lightning's hands, and something odd occurred to him.

_Why is she so… clear?_

"Do you like cake?" she asked, setting the round, layered dessert in the center of the coffee table, along with two plates and forks on either side. "This is going to sound strange, but I had a feeling I'd find my birthday cake in the fridge. No sense letting it go to waste this time around. Besides, I doubt calories count in this place."

"You mean you didn't eat it before?" Hope walked over and took a seat in the armchair in front of one of the plates. He forced himself to disregard the uneasy knot that settled in his gut over his apparently selective dream-world sense of sharpness and strained to see the dessert in detail. To his surprise, his vision did improve, and he had to admit that the birthday cake looked delicious – it was frosted white, with a blooming, pink marzipan rose centered on its top surrounded by smaller marzipan rosebuds and smooth scrollwork.

_I bet it's strawberry flavored. I wonder if Serah made it._

Lightning cut out a wedge of the cake and dished it onto his plate, answering blankly, "No, I didn't. I wasn't going to eat my birthday cake by myself."

"Oh." Hope stopped asking questions and tasted the cake. It was in fact strawberry, and it was perfectly fluffy and moist. Whether he was really eating or not was irrelevant. He felt sure that Serah had made it, but he was afraid to bring that up with the way Lightning had become tangibly silent. Even if she wasn't a woman of many words, he could tell the difference between her standard comfortable silence and tense, wordless detachment.

_Either my dream Light is scary accurate, or she's really here…_

They ate very small, slow bites of the cake for a few minutes, until Hope finally decided to speak up. He looked out through the windows across the room at the reddish sun as it set, asking timidly, "Light, even if it's more than three years overdue, can I wish you a belated 'Happy Birthday'?"

She set her fork aside then, meeting his gaze with a curious expression. "I don't have a problem with that, but it really isn't necessary."

"I feel like I should, though," Hope pressed, "since this is your birthday cake, and I didn't even know you before your last real birthday to wish anything."

Slumping back against the couch, Lightning crossed her arms over her chest with an air of resignation. She sighed and explained, "That birthday wasn't happy, plain and simple. You can wish all you want, but I suggest you save it for a different year."

_Yes, I think this is the real, crystallized Lightning. But how—? Ugh, it's useless to overanalyze here. If it's her, there are things I need to say while I have the chance._

"Alright, then." Hope sat up straight, making sure he held her eyes and attention before he added, "If that's what you want, you'll have to come back to us soon."

"Come back?" Lightning questioned. Her brow knit in frustration, and several seconds passed before she suddenly stiffened, apparently having remembered that ultimate goal. She shuddered almost imperceptibly and brought a hand to her forehead.

"Right – you mean wake up. But I don't know if I can promise anything," Lightning said in a hollow voice, letting her hand fall away to stare aimlessly out the darkening windows. "Sometimes… sometimes I forget what it was that I'd been looking for, or where I was going. Could be why I'm still here. Who knows? Who can say if it's even possible for every one of us to wake up?" She propped her elbow on the arm of the couch and rested her chin in her palm, seemingly musing about the predicament and not once averting her eyes from the windows.

_You forget about coming home because you're… lost? Or confused? Surely not because you don't care, but that would almost be easier to believe._

When she flitted her eyes over to Hope's incredulous, fearful face after hearing no response, Lightning suddenly became defensive. "Don't give me that look. I wouldn't be saying it if it wasn't true."

"I know," he said, his voice quiet with doubt, "it's just not… like you. I'm not saying I think you've never been unsure about your goals before, but from what I've seen, when you can't figure out what's best to do in a situation, you still come up with a temporary goal to drive toward until you can make a more informed decision."

Lightning's eyes widened ever so slightly, but she quickly recovered to retort,  
"What makes you think I don't have a temporary goal? I never said I was aimless."

"You just seemed really insecure about your situation, goal or no goal," Hope said matter-of-factly. "Even when we were l'Cie, you never admitted anything remotely like what you just said. Did you regret the past? Sure. Did you doubt the future? Absolutely. But you were never lost."

Hope wondered if he would have dared to say as much aloud in real life.

At that, Lightning opened her mouth to counter his claim, snapping it shut when she could find no adequate words. Hope stood to his feet and crossed the room, closing the blinds back over the fully darkened windows. Warm light flooded the room shortly after as Lightning switched on a table lamp next to the couch.

The instant Hope returned to the armchair he had claimed, Lightning moved mechanically to gather the dishes, and he joined her. "You're right," she muttered amidst the chore, looking up to say it to his face. They both froze with the dishes. Hope had never seen such vulnerability break the surface of her normally impassive eyes, cold as the ocean depths, as it did then.

_Is this really what it would look like, if she let her guard down? Seems real to me._

"I-I wasn't trying to lord it over you or something," Hope replied, fumbling with the plates and almost forgetting himself. "I just want to understand why you're feeling lost."

"That makes two of us." Lightning looked back down at the barely eaten cake in her hands and redirected to the kitchen. They put everything away in total silence for a few minutes, but as the task wore on it felt increasingly awkward – unsaid words hung thick in the air between them.

_Can we figure this out? I wonder how long we're both going to be here…_

Hope was just putting up the washed forks, absently noting that they looked much sharper in detail than before, when Lightning suddenly broke the silence from where she leaned against the spotless countertop, arms crossed.

"Hope, do you swim?" she asked abruptly, in the way a superior might ask a subordinate whether he had the necessary qualifications for a mission or not. Outside of that scenario, it just made Hope snort.

He recovered and answered almost smugly, "I _can_, I just haven't done it in a while. Pulse has some nasty water-dwellers that I'd rather not have nibbling my skin, or worse."

"Shouldn't be a problem, then, not that you could drown in a dream— right? Nevermind," Lightning said, more to herself than him, heading out of the kitchen toward some other room down the hallway as she continued to explain her plans. "We're going back to the beach. I'll be changed in five."

The instant understanding really hit Hope, he had to anchor himself to the countertop to avoid some kind of silly outburst. He pinched his arm again, extra hard with a twist for good measure, but sure enough, he still wasn't dreaming in the conventional sense.

Of course, that was when another problem occurred to him.

"Light, wait a sec!" he called out from the kitchen, absolutely refusing to set foot in the hallway. "I don't have any swim trunks!"

Her reply actually surprised him. All he heard was a strict, inarguable, "Hope, it's dark outside and no one cares about your underclothes – no one being _me_, considering this place is some uninhabited dream glitch. Don't be paranoid."

"O-okay," he finally managed, feeling beyond sheepish when Lightning did return to the kitchen in her tank top and shorts over what appeared to be a black swimsuit, going by the straps.

Huffing at Hope's state of obvious embarrassment – he could feel it all over his skin – Lightning just grabbed his arm and dragged him out of the house, with no further comment on her part or protest on his.

_Oh _please_ don't let me wake up yet._

* * *

"Serah? Hey, wake up, little lady," Sazh said from somewhere near her limp form in the chair next to Hope's patient bed. As she started to come round, lifting her head from the edge of the mattress, Serah noticed that Sazh was actually standing right beside her, holding out a glass of water for her to take. She hadn't realised how thirsty she'd become, but once she snatched the glass and started drinking down the water she couldn't stop until the glass was drained.

"I swear, if you don't get outta this room for a few hours, Snow's bound to do somethin' crazy," the pilot added, chuckling under his breath. "He hasn't let up with the questions since day before yesterday, and I'm running out of answers. All you gotta do is let somebody else watch Hope for a little while – the shift doctor's already here, and you can come right back in the morning."

Serah nodded slowly, still groggy from sleep. "I just don't want him to feel alone, here," she mumbled as she tried to tame her unruly bangs with her free hand.

_He must've felt so helpless when it happened, with no one around at all._

"But I-I guess it wouldn't hurt to go home and get some decent sleep for now," she conceded. "His fever is starting to go down a bit, and it's probably going to be several days before it would be safe to bring him back anyway." She wouldn't dare mention a possibility that he might not wake up again if the virus managed to damage too much, too fast. She could hardly think it without feeling the panicked clenching in her chest, and she knew dwelling on it would reduce her to a blubbering, useless mess. Still, it was taking all of her willpower to keep her fears to herself.

The sympathetic look in Sazh's eyes spoke volumes of his understanding. Serah felt a little relieved just knowing that there was no need to explain herself to him, and she even gave him a weak smile.

"That's right," he said finally, patting her shoulder. "You just run home, now. I'll stick around here for a while."

"You're the best, Sazh." Serah stood and looked down at Hope's pale, unconscious form for a moment, taking comfort in the steady, relaxed rise and fall of his chest, even if his cheeks remained flushed with the waning but persistent fever. His expression was blank in the induced coma, so she really had no reason to think he was in pain, and some little part of her wanted at least that facet of the situation to last. She knew that could not be, in spite of the return of his suffering, because that would mean they got him back from whatever dark dreamworld he might have sunk into.

That in mind, Serah sighed and headed for the door.

* * *

"How's the water?" Hope called from the shore. He knew the appropriate course of action would be to just get in and see for himself, but instead he continued to dig his toes in the sand, which had curiously gained more texture against his skin as it gained more detail before his eyes. The entire beach was practically true to life now, but that only added to his dilemma. Hope nervously glanced at the all-too-distinct pile of clothes at his feet, hesitant to remove his cargo pants.

Lightning's reply was a pointed, "Warmer than it is out there!" before she smoothly dove under again.

The moment they had reached the shore, Lightning had wasted no time stripping off and tossing aside her outerwear – she'd hit the calm surf and waded out farther to glide through the lightly rippling water. Honestly, Hope was relieved that she had, so he wouldn't have to fight himself to avoid staring at her, the plain modesty of her black one-piece notwithstanding. For all he knew, the swimsuit had been military issue, but she had the longest legs he had ever seen and a slender body type that could make that simple style look incredible.

_I shouldn't be surprised that she's as gorgeous in a dream as she is in reality._

Shivering suddenly, Hope had to admit the truth to Lightning's statement. He shook off any residual embarrassment about his orange boxers and wriggled out of his pants, jogging into the surf himself.

Sure enough, the water was a perfect temperature, so closely matching that of his skin that it felt like an extension of himself – an outer layer that encapsulated him safely in the wide, dark ocean. Hope was soon so comfortable that he dove under and swam toward Lightning, where she had stopped to float on her back. Opening his eyes beneath the water, he spied her silhouette against the otherwise moonlit surface and thought it would be fun to catch her off guard. She didn't flinch when he pressed his hand against her bare upper back, and he was filled with foreboding for a split second.

_She was waiting… And I'm in for it, aren't I?_

Hope hated being right. The instant he suspected something was off, Lightning grabbed his wrist as leverage to flip backward and pull herself under, wrapping her legs around his waist from behind while she locked his neck in her arm and squeezed.

In the past, Hope would have known better than to struggle, but he couldn't resist trying his chances. Pushing off the ocean floor against their combined weights, he was able to surface just long enough to get a gulp of air before Lightning had him down again. He tried prying her arm from his neck but quickly abandoned that lost cause, knowing that if she really wanted to choke him out, she would have already done so. As for her legs, he knew better than to waste his time.

Then, in a moment of brilliance – or possibly stupidity – he did the one insane thing that he thought might bring about his freedom.

Hope reached behind him and tickled his captor. When Lightning didn't respond to the attack on her sides, except to stiffen in what was likely shock and anger, he just arrested her ankles and tried her feet instead. And somehow, it actually paid off.

After only a couple of seconds of initial resistance and a noticeably tighter hold on his neck, Lightning started to writhe around, kicking against the attack of his fingers unsuccessfully until she finally released him. They both surfaced quickly to suck in the salty air.

"Hope… what the _hell_…" Lightning gasped, nailing him between the eyes with a glare that would have easily evaporated the water and burned him to a crisp, had the rest of her face not been darkened by a flush of humiliation.

Hope was already bowled over with laughter, clutching his sides and choking as his lungs protested that they needed to be taking in more air rather than expelling it. Eventually, they won out and he had to calm himself to breathe. "I'm sorry… so sorry, but I had to… try something!" he choked. It took him so long to recover that the soldier's fury finally ebbed away to nothing.

"Well, that was creative," Lightning conceded at length, cooling down to study him for a few moments. "Unexpected, too, coming from a certain shy boy I used to know." Something in the way she said it carried doubt. Doubt over whether he was the person he claimed to be.

_What, you thought she'd just buy into _your _existence, no problem? Hypocrite._

Hope didn't know what she was reading on his face – was afraid to know how much she could see. He looked down and ran his hands through his hair, muttering by way of breaking the silence, "So back to this… business of being lost. Do you have a plan to keep yourself from forgetting all of us in the real world, yet?"

"Actually, I might," Lightning said quietly, wading forward to catch his attention again. Her eyes held that same unsettling vulnerability as before, and he couldn't turn from it.

"Tell me what you think about this, Hope. Everything I dream here has been based on memories from the past – everything up to this incident with you. If I can remember tonight, even for a little while, then maybe I can remember what you asked me for. Like I'm creating a new memory to revisit."

Hope inserted, "You mean, you think you can try to remind yourself to hurry back to us?"

"Yes," she said, "but I might just as easily forget that I met you or dismiss it as some delusion – unless I have proof of it later."

"What kind of proof?" Nerves kicking in the instant that question left his mouth, Hope was suddenly quite aware of her closeness, and he pinched his arm under the water yet again to confirm reality.

_How am I really here? This just can't be possible._

Lightning stepped closer, the water between them warmer for it. "Something I can't forget or ignore in the middle of these crazy dreams." With that, she lifted her salty, tangled hair out of the way and unhooked the chain of her necklace that seemed to have been an inseparable part of her person.

It grew to be impossibly warm when she reached up to clasp the chain around his neck. Hope knew that she could feel just how hard his heart was pounding, but for the moment it didn't matter.

"Give this to Serah, for me," she instructed. Only the barest trace of longing passed over her eyes as her stare remained fixed on the silver lightning bolt pendant. "Seeing that it's gone should remind me of what has changed about my real situation. But even if it doesn't, I won't stop fighting. I'll find a way. You have to tell her I'm coming back as soon as I can."

"Consider it done," Hope said, his fingers automatically finding the pendant to trace its shape. He did not want to elaborate on any possibilities of failure, not when he felt unsure if the truth of things would comfort her at all – even if it seemed wrong to give her false hopes. "But you know, Light," he ventured instead, "wouldn't it be better if I could stay with you until then? We could both wake up in a few days, or in the morning for all I know. You_ really_ wouldn't be able to ignore future me hanging around until then. Maybe it could stop the dreams altogether!"

Hope was a little shocked to hear her laugh outright at the absurdity of that suggestion. "I'm not that naïve," Lightning remarked, poking him once in the chest. "You're alive out there, not crystallized, so I highly doubt you can stick around. This is a glitch, remember?" Her voice trailed away, and as she shifted her eyes toward some point beyond Hope, he saw uncertainty pass over them again.

"I can tell you one thing, though," Lightning continued, daring to make eye contact. "I needed a good reminder… really, just to be in the company of another person. It doesn't matter that my dreams conjure up everyone I've ever known, even if it means seeing my parents again, because I know they're just memories. I'm always alone, so I forgot what it's like to be lonely. But I get the feeling I'll remember that soon. Extra motivation to get out of here, I guess."

"I'm sorry," Hope replied, even if there wasn't anything he could legitimately apologise for. He had to look down from her face before it captured him, and before he acted in a misguided attempt to make the strangely vulnerable Lightning feel better. To that end, he floated his palms just atop the water's surface and concentrated on them, explaining with guarded sincerity, "I wish you didn't have to hold onto something painful just to get out of this place."

And with cruel irony, as Hope said those words, he felt his legs begin to prickle from cold in the previously comfortable water. The chills quickly intensified and progressed, rippling upward along his skin until his entire body was trapped in an icy grip. He began to shiver uncontrollably.

Lightning snapped back into a state of serious alertness at the change and asked sternly, "Hope, what's wrong?"

"I d-don't know," he stammered, rubbing ineffectually at his arms.

Immediately working to counteract whatever force had gotten hold of him, Lightning pushed him lower in the water by the shoulders, hoping to warm him again. Her eyes filled with dread when she pressed the back of her hand to his face.

"Hope, just hang on," she said, pulling at his arm to head for the shore. "We need to get you back to the house."

Hope could see and hear her with almost painful clarity, but he was so numb with cold that he could no longer feel her hands against him, and soon enough he could not stand in the frigid ocean anymore. As if a drain opened in the sandy floor underfoot, he felt his body be sucked down a deepening funnel of dark water toward white emptiness at its core.

"Wait!" he heard Lightning cry out from far above, but the speck of light that had been the moon overhead was snuffed out in an instant, along with her eyes and all of her world.

* * *

A week crawled by, then another. And even since the coma inducing medications were removed, yet another week had nearly elapsed. Serah had worked herself into such a rut of routine that she hardly needed to check the time anymore. A single day could be measured in the number of the smallest things. Scrub in once, out once. Three particular stars always aligned in the northern sky on the way home late at night. A handful of pebbles kicked from her shoe before entering the clinic in the morning. Two peanut butter and honey sandwiches stored in her cubby – one for lunch, one for dinner. Screw breakfast.

So it startled her one morning to meet a disruption. She was just in the middle of methodically kicking her shoe against the concrete slab before the clinic entrance when she heard a distinct throat-clearing sound. Her head whipped left as she jumped.

"You can't be that surprised to see me, not with the peanut gallery over here these days," Lucil said with a tired smile that truly wanted to be a smirk – it just couldn't catch the necessary spark of humor. She could have been brooding against the wall since before dawn for all Serah knew.

"I guess that's true," Serah said with a little cough. She felt suddenly out of her element and inexplicably on edge. "Were you hoping for a status report, or are you just Sazh's new victim in his grand scheme to make sure I take regular breaks?"

"Both, actually." Lucil pushed herself away from the wall and dusted her hands, determination flashing in her eyes for a moment. "I'll take that status report once we get inside, if you don't mind, but I'll leave you to your work after that. I plan to drop by later on to relieve you. What's the best time? Around six?"

"Oh, it doesn't have to be that early," Serah said, trying to brush it off as she opened the door. "I have food with me for dinner. You can come after ten if you want."

Lucil narrowed her eyes in close scrutiny, frozen as she observed the tireless medic. Under that sharp gaze, Serah was sure that every worry line or dark circle or sign of thinness on her person would stand out like flashing red lights of alarm. Her spirit sank in defeat. She bit her lip and stepped into the entryway.

"Just come by whenever you get bored, I guess."

_It could be any day now. I'd really rather be here myself when he wakes up._

There was no sense in defending her case to the logically-bent soldier – no more sense than there had been explaining it to any of the NORA crew when they had taken turns. Snow had been no better. In fact, he was the absolute worst about extending his shift. Each time a friend came by, the 'watch' relief in question would easily wave off Serah's insistence on staying and counter it with the obvious fact that she needed to rest sometime. It wasn't that Hope was ever left without medical attention, as there was always at least one doctor and a couple of nurses on shift, but none of their group liked the idea of him sleeping or waking in the clinic without at least one close friend there for support.

Sighing, Serah simply led Lucil back through the clinic to the rearmost space cramped with a handful of overnight patient beds. The last one in the row against the righthand wall was Hope's.

Overfilling the chair next to the bed slumped Snow. He snored lightly with his head bowed to his chest, the fingers of one large hand loosely gripping a worn-out notebook that sat on his lap. Serah recognised it as the same spiral-bound log that he took along with him for work projects. In a moment of overwhelming curiosity, she slid the notebook from his grasp without waking him. She quickly thumbed through several crinkled pages full of what looked like crude maps and nearly illegibly scrawled notes naming markers or listing items in the margins.

"Hm," she said, "I wonder what he's been up to. Do any of these maps look familiar to you, Lucil?" Serah casually passed the notebook over to her statue-like companion and walked around to the other side of Hope's bed to check his chart and monitors.

"For the most part, sure. But these last few pages aren't for survey work, if you really want to know," Lucil said abruptly, keeping her voice low enough that Snow merely mumbled in his sleep. His hand twitched into a loose fist and then relaxed.

Serah looked up from the chart, wide eyes shining in the dimly lit room. She asked, "Then what are they for?"

"Other missions," Lucil replied, noncommittal. She shrugged. "It wouldn't do any good for me to try and explain, because the notes and stuff on these maps look like half-baked infiltration strategies. Maybe it's a hobby of Snow's. I just know these plans won't ever be used unless they get reviewed ten times over."

Flipping the notebook closed, she stepped over to place it deftly on Snow's thigh. Lucil's focus redirected onto Hope and fixed itself there.

"You want that status update now?" Serah offered.

Her eyes unmoving, Lucil just crossed her arms and exhaled heavily. "He's still unconscious, maybe running a fever again. That much I can tell. Let's hope something changes before the week's up." She gave Serah a tight but sympathetic half-smile before turning to leave.

"See ya around seven, lady," the soldier called out with a wave.

Snow woke to the sudden rise in Lucil's voice with a start. He had already been leaning precariously to his right, so the movement sent him toppling to the floor with a dull thud and a grunt.

Serah peered over the bed at her bewildered fiance, who was still rubbing his eyes and stretching on the floor. He finally turned his sleepy face upward and grinned. Then he seemed to think better of the situation.

"Love the pink scrubs, beautiful. It's a match made in heaven with your hair."

"Don't tell me you spent all night thinking that one up," she said, one eyebrow raised in mock accusation above a smirk.

Snow laughed it off and dragged himself up from the floor. "How could I think it up, when I didn't know what scrubs you'd be wearing?"

"You're kidding, right?" Serah threw out the comment like it was nothing, and despite thinking it unnecessary she added, "I always wear the pink scrubs on Thursdays. You know that."

"Uh…" Snow fumbled, scratching at his stubbly chin, "actually, I didn't know that at all."

_Oh wait, that was Hope. He figured out the pattern and mentioned it once, a few months ago. Stupid, Serah, stupid. Go ahead and rub salt in every little wound you can find, why don't you._

"Right, sorry," she said sheepishly. "So umm… anything different happen overnight? Any fever spikes or restlessness?"

Snow yawned mightily, and it made his comment practically incoherent. He said, "Well, does he always talk to Sis in his sleep?"

"What?" Serah blinked and shook her head in disbelief. "Could you repeat that?"

* * *

Hope wrenched his eyes open to see the blank clinic ceiling come into focus. He had to squeeze them shut just as quickly from the glare of a lamp exacerbating an already throbbing headache, and he weakly dug his fingertips into the sheets as if to hold on for the impending explosion of his head. In the reddish haze of pain and fresh memories that were amplified behind his eyes, Hope twisted his neck in slow increments until his cheek pressed into the stale pillowcase. He squinted at the IV drip, finally noticing the tug from where the tubes attached to his hand, regaining a tingly sense of the rest of his body and shivering under the thin sheet, unable to curl himself into a ball like he wanted badly to do.

_Why did I have to come back to this? There was something…_

The necklace. Hope thought he could feel the ghost of its cold weight on his chest, and with effort he inched his untethered right hand up over the covers to search for the metallic lightning bolt. Nothing. Groping around for the telltale chain around his neck, his panic rising, he still felt nothing. His fingers moved back down to grasp at the flimsy hospital gown's fabric over the spot on his chest where the pendant should have been.

"Where…?" he croaked out, finding his throat near useless. Somehow in the fog of his mind, it occurred to him how ridiculous it was to have expected a physical object from a dream – or limbo, or some anomalous realm caused by a glitch – to return with him to real life. But whether or not Lightning's request had been real, his failure certainly felt as much.

"Hope?" He recognised Lucil's borderline desperate voice from across the room, and his eyes drifted blearily to the doorway. She seemed to move from the door to the bed between a single blink of his heavy eyelids. Hope let them fall shut again.

"Hey, can you hear me?" she asked. He was still shivering, and he felt rather than saw the hand press against his forehead, his cheek, his neck for the pulse that was very much there and quickening. The soldier's exasperated sigh confirmed that he really was in as miserable a state as he felt. She only muttered, "Damn. I'm getting Vin. Back in a sec, just—stay awake, alright?"

Hope tried to say "Okay," but it came out as more of a hoarse squeak.

Moments later, he was surrounded by the commotion of the doctor and nurses on shift fussing over him and getting themselves snapped at by a very frazzled Lucil as she alternately played overseer and called everyone Hope knew over her communicator. It turned out that, based on the snatches of the staff's remarks he could gather, the fever wasn't terribly serious – simply the death throes of the relapsed virus making a final stand during his consciousness. Vin pumped medicines into the IV to bring down his temperature and relieve his headache, and Hope gradually felt the chills and pain lessen. Wondering just how long it had been since he first passed out, he worked to align his brief time in the dream world with Lightning with the passage of time in reality.

_A day? Maybe two or three, if I was out for a while before the dream. I don't know, though…_

Soon enough, Hope began drifting off again, only to be prodded awake.

Lucil had finished her multitude of calls and hovered over him, trying to look serious and failing miserably. "Don't you dare fall asleep," she threatened, but her voice caught. She wouldn't say another word. Even to Hope's hazy mind, that registered as overreaction for a mere couple of days of unconsciousness.

But what had happened to him? It had been drastic, that much he could already feel. He was too stiff and weak to move much, his tongue felt thick and useless, and he had a minor but localized pain in his abdomen. That last detail rang a bell from memories of a few other patients he'd witnessed in the past.

_A feeding tube?_

It seemed that just when Hope managed to put the signs together and rack up fears over the length of time he'd been under, he was surrounded by a growing number of familiar faces to provide support. Serah and Snow were the first to charge into the room. Hope felt cool and reassuring hands on his face that only lifted to check his IV – Serah was smiling, teary-eyed with relief and kissing his forehead. She mentioned something about the passage of weeks and how much they had all missed him before she turned to work with the other doctor and nurses.

An entirely separate, larger hand simultaneously clamped down on his right shoulder. Hope forced his heavy head to make the one hundred eighty degree roll toward the new pressure, not surprised to see Snow sitting there. What _was_ surprising was the devastated look on the man's face. He opened his mouth to say one thing but thought better of it, tried again and managed only to hang his head.

When he looked up after a long moment he finally said, "Well kid, you were right. I didn't understand anything, and I'm sorry. If you promise to stick around I swear I won't be such an ass. Sound good?"

Muddling through recent memories, Hope finally stumbled upon the incidents leading up to his relapse and figured out where Snow was coming from. His own anger seemed petty to him in retrospect, and he realised just how futile – detrimental, even – it had been to try and keep his condition under wraps. Blinking slowly, he faced his friend's apologetic expression and managed a watery grin. He still didn't trust his voice, but he rasped out, "Yeah."

"Serah! He's talking!" Snow exclaimed with unreserved excitement. He was immediately shushed but his declaration drew Sazh to the bedside from his perch near the doorway, and NORA crowded into view right on his heels.

As they closed in, Hope also saw Dajh among them, rubbing sleepy eyes and yawning. He had apparently been dragged out of bed, and for the first time Hope got a sense of what time it was.

_Middle of the night, I guess._ His eyes flitted again to Serah on his left, taking in her pink scrubs. _Thursday night._

"Feelin' better, Hope?" Dajh asked good-naturedly. He was smiling so Hope tried to smile back and nod, but the boy's face turned deathly serious when he really gained his focus enough to look around, taking in the tubes and wires attached everywhere. In fact, it drew Hope's waning attention to those items – to the sensors on his head and chest and, more miserably, the catheter. He cringed.

Sazh must have noticed the look on his face, because he actually had the audacity to laugh. "Never can get used to bein' hooked up, I'd imagine," he remarked. His eyes shone like Serah's had, that strained relief coming through, and he cautiously ruffled Hope's hair.

"Who'd want to?" Maqui had squeezed through to the edge of the bed, close enough to vie with Snow for that position. He reached over the larger man and lightly pushed Hope's cheek with his gloved fist.

"Ha! He can already take a hit."

From somewhere past Snow, Hope heard Yuj laugh and saw him shaking his blue head. "Did you really have to test that right off? I hope he hits back, too."

"You're both idiots," Lebreau snapped from beyond his line of sight. "Hey fearless leader, mind setting these knuckleheads straight?"

Snow just laughed. "Hope looks happy about it. I'll let 'em be for now."

"Fine, fine. If Gadot wasn't off in sector 23, he would've reined them in, but whatever."

Retaliation was farther from Hope's mind than anything else. He grinned hazily toward them all, slipping a bit under the medication that worked to keep his headache and fever at bay. His eyelids felt far too heavy.

_If I sleep again, maybe I can apologise to Light about the necklace…_

"Alright," Lucil declared right then, sharply enough that Hope's head gave a throb and he couldn't quite drift off, "I'd say visiting hour is up. Serah needs some time to work in peace. Everyone else, let's clear out."

A chorus of grumblings was quickly followed with well-wishes and goodbyes, pats to the arm and hand and face, tight smiles that showed his friends' lingering apprehension. Snow was hesitant to follow the others.

"Serah, you sure I can't stick around and help?" he asked, still seated protectively at Hope's right. "Or I could just sit back over here, out of the way."

"Why don't you ask Hope? I need him to stay awake a little longer anyway." Serah continued to work as she said this, scribbling still more notes in his chart on her clipboard.

Hope turned his fading attention back to Snow, who immediately asked, "What do you say, kid? Can I hang out here?" Given the recent circumstances, there was no chance Hope would have turned down the offer.

"I'm not a kid," he croaked, finding his voice a little more reliable if still rough. "But I could use an update on life."

* * *

It was well into the next week before Serah was able to get a moment alone with her favorite patient. Snow had been the primary offender, and she couldn't blame him, but that combined with every other concerned party dropping by at intervals made privacy with Hope impossible. Neither of them had had the heart to shut anyone out. Still, she could tell there was something weighing on his mind, and he wasn't going to say it in the presence of extra company.

The issue finally resolved itself. Wednesday afternoon arrived with an unavoidable summons for Snow to swap out with Gadot for a survey mission, they said their all-too-common goodbyes with each other and with Hope, and that was that. Serah left the back patient room briefly to see Snow off from the clinic's front steps, and on the way back to attend to Hope, she gave the receptionist instructions that he was not to be disturbed for the rest of the day. She closed the door behind her and leaned against it with a sigh.

"Can I please, _please_ be disconnected today?" Hope asked immediately. His eyes seemed twice as large and shimmering with the plea, so obviously timed to not be observed by another living soul.

Serah rolled her eyes as she approached. "You can finally tell me anything after what? Five days? And all that comes to mind is getting rid of the stupid catheter?" It wasn't actually unexpected to her, but she knew there was more coming once Hope didn't feel they were going to be interrupted.

He blew out an exasperated breath and crossed his arms, deflated. "Well I didn't want anyone else around for that," he muttered, "and I'd like to try standing on my own two feet as soon as possible. I swear I can, Sis."

"Two more days and you're good to go, remember? Until then, I've been meaning to ask you a about some things." Serah checked his vitals again out of habit and sat in the chair formerly occupied by Snow. She and Hope stared each other down.

"So ask me," Hope said.

"Just tell me what's on your mind." She refused to release her hold on those foamy green eyes that were not, for a change, giving her a constant feed of data.

There was a flicker in them now. Hope blinked suddenly, looking down at where his hand gripped the gown over his chest. "When I was under," he began softly, "I had a dream – no, maybe more like some out-of-body experience – where I found your sister. And I don't mean I fantasized about going on a journey and finding her, but more like our minds met up in limbo, I guess."

He paused, seeing the perplexed and intensifying gaze Serah had fixed on him. "Ugh, I don't think I'm explaining this right at all…"

"Doesn't ever seem to be a right way to explain this kind of thing," Serah said thoughtfully. "Just keep going, and we'll work it out after, okay?"

"Alright." Hope faced some point across the room but seemed to lose focus, continuing to bunch the fabric over his chest. He went on from there.

"We were in Bodhum, an empty Bodhum, some place Light said she dreamed about often, but usually when she was reliving memories in crystalstasis. She said we were meeting because of a glitch – that's what she called our limbo experience," he recounted. "Then I followed her to her house, which I've never seen before, and we ate some of her birthday cake. And she told me—"

"Wait," Serah cut in. "You ate some of her birthday cake? Can you tell me what it was like?"

Hope cocked his head quizzically, as if he had finally put two and two together about something. "So you did make it, huh?"

"What?" Serah asked.

"I had a sneaking suspicion that you had made the cake," Hope said with a shrug. "Anyway, it was smooth and white with pink roses and curly designs on it. It was strawberry flavored – really delicious actually, not that I'd expect less from you."

Serah stared, dumbfounded, and practically gasped, "Not… possible."

"What do you mean, 'not possible'?"

"It's just hard to believe you dreamed that up," Serah said, her mind still reeling. "I made that exact cake for Claire's—I mean Lightning's birthday, and you wouldn't have been able to dream it yourself without either me or my sister describing it, or maybe Snow. To have actually seen and eaten it… Well, it makes me wonder if you did have a connection with my sister, somehow. I don't think there's any way to know for sure, though."

Hope sighed, a heavy sadness seeping into his eyes. "Hmph, perfect. Maybe if there had been a little more substance to the encounter, I could've done what she asked me to do."

"And what was that?" Serah asked, her voice nearly a whisper. Despite all her doubts, there was a small, aching place in her heart that believed whatever Hope was about to say truly had come from her sister.

Hope's raised his eyes and let down the defenses that kept his emotions in check. Behind them, a strange battle was raging between near-elation and guilt, but he cleared his throat and pressed on.

"She wanted me to tell you that she's going to come back to you as soon as she can. And more – she gave me her necklace to pass on to you, as a token of her promise to return and so she would remember it herself when she saw the necklace was gone. Only…"

There he faltered. He clenched his fingers around the gown in that same place over his chest, making a sound in his throat that sounded like a choked groan of disappointment.

"I don't have it," he whispered. "I'm sorry, Sis."

* * *

**A parting thought in the Endnote from Beta-roomie: "So the turquoise bandanna is like Hope's spirit animal or something?" -_- (she wanted me to post this)**


	18. Open up

**A/N: Happy St. Patrick's Day! I must apologise a thousand times, AGAIN, for how late this post is. I swear, my poor beta-roomie just went through the most stressful couple of weeks imaginable, and that really is the reason this chapter took so long. I actually finished writing the original draft two weeks ago -_- Ah well, considering the subject matter, there couldn't have been a more perfect day to post *evil laughter* You'll note a number of connections in this chapter with vague references and incidents in AiR, particularly from the epilogue hehe…**

**OH, and I almost forgot - I have shamelessly inserted a one-line tribute to the Hunger Games in this chapter, in honor of the awesome books and upcoming movie. I will personally deliver a digital cookie (in some form) to reviewers who can spot the sentence and cite it to me XD**

**So yeah, this is the homestretch (and Chapter 19 is being a pain)! Please do read and review! I REALLY need feedback. And don't forget to check out a few fun quotes from my snarky beta at the end ;-)**

Open up (your veins)

_Bang-bang-bang!_ The pounding on his door made Hope almost impale his thigh with the screwdriver he was using.

"Hope, you had better be alive and awake down there!" Corporal Lucil clearly didn't know the meaning of the word subtle.

_All the better for it, I guess. Preferable to being snuck up on._

"Half a minute, I swear!" Hope yelled back, tightening the screw that attached one hinge of his retractable blades on the half-assembled boomerang.

He leapt from his nest of tools and parts on the bunker floor and sprang for the stairs as fast as he could, trying to navigate the room without hitting a shelf or tumbling headlong to the concrete.

It was that time of day, and that day was Friday at long last.

Friday had come to take on profound meaning since his release from the clinic – or, to be more exact, since the magical combination of Snow, Lucil, and NORA collectively plotting plus the "we almost lost him" mentality led to a complicated operation that targeted one particular missing piece of their family: Lightning. Whether it was for Hope's sake or simply because they were all reminded of the very real possibility that Sergeant Farron could awaken in PSICOM custody and become another experiment, efforts were redoubled to find her. Mere weeks of planning suddenly yielded multiple missions.

It wasn't that nothing had been done to that point. Priorities since the move from the Settlement simply hadn't allowed for a more aggressive approach to tracking down the former l'Cie, since manning had been mostly allocated to building, feeding and protecting the remote base. Now, though, informants and other in-roads maintained in the Settlement were being put to more frequent use, and Lieutenant Baralai's teams were reinforced by soldiers from other units to better handle a split mission for intelligence gathering.

Overall progress on the operation ended up squeezed into a weekly report – the lifeline to concerned parties like Hope and Serah, who could not be directly involved with the mission for their own safety and peace of mind. For one, Hope had been on a strict regimen of healthy eating, rest, and monitoring after his release from the clinic, under Serah's care, and even when he had been cleared to work in the hangar again, neither of them could be spared from their daily obligations when the command as a whole was more short-handed than usual.

But there were things they needed to know. Friday's operational summary reports constituted an essential motivating item, besides the boomerang mod project, which kept Hope afloat on a roiling sea of apprehension. Maybe it had only been a glitch, but seeing Lightning again, and in such a state of disorientation, brought back a sense of urgency long numbed by time and circumstance.

And Hope had to admit, he had cause for concern when it came to dealing with his emotions on the subject. During the operation's initial development, and once right before his release from the clinic, he had entertained a very unhealthy thought or two about about the amount of painkillers it would take to induce another coma. He had all but slapped himself for thinking along those lines.

_How selfish was that? Hmph, horrible. Doubt it would've worked, anyway. There are more holes in that plan than infected cells in my head – the ones that probably spawned that stupid idea._

Hope reached the top of the stairs and jerked the door open. Lucil didn't waste any more time on chastisement before arresting his arm to tow him behind her to the exit. She muttered along the way, "All these weeks and you still can't manage to be ready at seventeen hundred to save your life."

Laughing, he tossed the forgotten screwdriver in his hand onto a nearby shelf as they crossed the hangar. "So I zone. I can't get anything done if I don't focus, you know."

"Would it kill you to redirect that focus for five seconds and set an alarm? It's not like I _have_ to haul your ass around every week," Lucil huffed, still plowing forward. They were already through the south exit and mounting the velocycle.

_Not since I've recovered anyway. How on Pulse did you end up with this annoying liason gig in the first place?_ he wanted to say, but he really knew the answer. If Lucil couldn't be in the thick of a mission, boots on ground, she was going to be as involved as humanly possible in other ways. She had once given him a vague promise to make up for losing Sergeant Farron back in Central, and she wasn't one to forget such things. Hope hadn't figured out a successful way to thank her yet. The current strategy was to continue pretending to forget the time so the sidelined soldier felt responsible for picking him up; he knew she would never outright admit that she felt useless and preferred the company.

It was an easy call to make. Serah had been like that – though she was better about making it known – and he felt that way himself sometimes.

As Lucil was starting up the engine, Hope said loudly over the noise, "Look, inconveniencing you is my only form of payback for weaseling me into a social life. Could've met anytime, anywhere on base but _no_ – had to be Friday night at the Vestige. Excellent choice of bait, I must admit."

"Just shut up and hang on." She actually smirked in spite of herself, but an ear-blasting, punctuated rev of the velo ended the conversation as they took off.

* * *

Serah drummed her fingertips anxiously against the smooth bar counter, glancing at her watch again. She needed to stop checking the time. It made things worse.

_Not that I would ever complain. What more could I ask for?_

Musing to divert herself from the wait, she thought back to the heartbreaking joy on Hope's face when Snow had revealed the nature of the plan he'd hatched to track down her sister. It was quite the shining moment for her hero.

Not three months into his time on survey missions, Snow had learned the basics about Guardian Corps tactics and disposition of forces along with NORA's unique contributions to their schemes and spotted an opportunity to better meld the two. On top of that, the man had a gift for networking with people – a talent only reinforced by NORA's reputation since the fall – and once he presented a defensible plan, his own relentless focus to see it through became infectious. Corporal Lucil's forewarning of a "ten times over" review was accurate, but ten reviews later saw a nicely fleshed-out operation of multiple objectives. An approved one.

Serah laughed, once. _The men in my life seem to have one-track minds. And now they're on the _same _track._

"Lebreau, can I get another coffee?" Serah asked tiredly, grinning to herself when she glanced up to see that her friend had just finished refilling the mug while she was distracted.

A generous dose of cream immediately followed as Lebreau winked and said encouragingly, "Never underestimate connections with NORA."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

The tinkling sound of the bells at the entrance caught Serah's attention and she whipped her head to the left, sighing with relief when she caught flashes of the red and silver heads weaving toward her through the thickening Friday night crowd in the pub.

Upon arrival, Hope flicked her braid playfully and hopped onto the bar stool to her right.

"Sorry for making you wait… again," he said sheepishly. The last bit of Serah's lingering anxiety over his tardiness was obliterated by his apologetic half-smile.

She tisked and ruffled his hair. Still watching him for signs of fatigue from his recovery, she cocked her head and stared shrewdly at his face, but his eyes only flitted down to her mug and back up to her, making her laugh. She called to Lebreau, "Could we get a coffee for this one, too?"

"Aw, I was about to do that, Sis." A mug and a sugar packet plunked onto the counter in front of Hope, and his smile turned to Lebreau. "That's perfect, thanks."

Rolling her eyes, Lebreau just said, "You can thank me by working on your punctuality, hon. Or a tip – your choice."

"Lost cause on the punctuality, I think," Hope said, dumping the packet of sugar in his coffee, "But I can give you a tip."

"Really?" Lebreau quirked an eyebrow in surprise. They all knew commerce on base was still largely based on bartering, barely beginning to make the transition to currency, and neither NORA nor the Guardian Corps forces worked for actual pay.

He smirked evilly. "Yes, a tip. Keep spoons on the bar."

That was when Lebreau whacked him on the head with one such spoon. Serah laughed at his wounded pout and decided it was high time to get their informal meeting started. Lucil had already situated herself on a stool and continued flipping through papers in a nondescript file, lost in concentration.

"Looks like it's been a productive week," Serah remarked, politely trying to get through to the soldier. Lucil only nodded and made some incoherent grumble of acknowledgement, but a few moments later she closed the file and turned her full attention to three anxious faces trained on hers.

She smacked her palm resolutely against the closed file. "'Productive' is a nice way to put it," Lucil began, cutting off sharply when her gaze shifted to Hope.

"Estheim, if you make that doe-eyed look at my file one more time, I'm shredding it," she growled, and he snapped to attention in his seat while Serah flinched at her tone of voice. It was clearly not lost on the corporal.

Lucil pinched the bridge of her nose and exhaled heavily. "Sorry to sound that harsh, but I've told him a hundred times that my hard copy reports are a bunch of purposely technical jargon – full of shorthand notes and acronyms he wouldn't know. I only bring them along for reference."

"I get it," Hope muttered. He rested his chin on the bar. "You don't have to talk through Serah to reach me."

No reply to that one. Serah did not want to focus too directly into the path of Lucil's fiery glare as it passed her on its way to Hope, so she sipped at her coffee and exchanged a look with Lebreau instead.

_Ouch. Aren't we testy today._

"Just give us the highlights already," Lebreau said impatiently as she nudged a fresh mug of coffee toward Lucil. The soldier took the steaming drink and perked up a bit. She began to sip it, straight black.

"Highlights it is. We've got monsters, security gaps, and skirmishes," Lucil rattled off, her voice too forcibly nonchalant to be convincing. "Take your pick."

Serah's gut clenched at the mention of monsters, but her eyes widened in true surprise when she finally wrapped her head around what 'skirmishes' entailed.

"Skirmishes?" Hope choked, speaking her thoughts aloud. He coughed and hit his chest a couple of times, having been caught off guard mid-swig. "They've actually been _fighting_?"

Shrugging, Lucil just explained with a gleam of excitement in her eye, "Absolutely. Nothing serious of course – no casualties, personnel-wise. Maybe someone out there has a busted gun or a black eye. You didn't actually think an operation this complicated would go along without a hitch, and without any sort of direct interference from PSICOM, did you?"

Serah and Hope shook their stunned heads in tandem, struck dumb by a sudden barrage of scenarios made possible by the news. Lebreau, in the meantime, gave the corporal a hard look.

"You could do with a little more tact," she said bluntly. "Not everyone thrills at the thought of a good fight – certainly not these two, when Snow could've been involved. Hell, even I'm not particularly keen on the idea. So I suggest you hurry up and elaborate."

_Wow, Lebreau. I owe you one._

After several seconds of tense silence, Lucil composed her ruffled self and began again. "Right, first things first – Snow wasn't physically involved at all, just behind the staging and execution for two missions. Then he got to play overseer, as usual." Everyone visibly relaxed at that confirmation, and Serah felt Hope release her hand. She hadn't even noticed him grab onto it in silent support.

"The sum of it all is that we're getting closer," Lucil continued once the air felt clear. "In spite of PSICOM's extra efforts to block our interference on their networks, we've only had two channels completely cut off. And we've only had one member inside Central get his cover blown, but before that happened he took off with a briefcase full of classified material. Good stuff, too. The result is that instead of narrowing our search from eleven possible sites to nine, we've narrowed it to five, and we'll only pare it down further with diligence and continued surveillance."

"But… what about the skirmishes?" Hope said tentatively. "What _did_ happen?"

Lucil sipped at her coffee, looking thoughtful but not concerned. "Heh, those were just minor altercations between one of our snoopier border patrol squadrons and the sentries around a nearby PSICOM outpost," she said. "Really, it could be seen as a positive that PSICOM made such a fuss – draws attention to that site. Why exactly would a tiny, insignificant outpost be so riled up about a handful of GC soldiers asking to come on post for the tools to fix a busted velo? Or for seeking a place of defense when a behemoth was unexpectedly sighted in the area? Smells fishy to me."

In the edge of her vision, Serah saw Hope's hand tighten around his mug at the mention of the behemoth. She could easily guess his thoughts.

_At least Lucil already told us there were no casualties this week._

But she didn't anticipate Hope's nerve to speak further on the subject.

"So, was that behemoth the monster problem you brought up earlier?" he asked, sounding emotionally disconnected under the strain to keep his fears in check.

Lucil seemed to pick up on the change, and rather than aggravate his discomfort further, she calmly replied, "Yes and no. See, it wasn't so much a monster problem as it was a monster solution to the PSICOM problem. Even with how touchy they'd been about the velo incident, those outpost sentries weren't about to shut out the GC patrol with a raging behemoth on the loose. Which means they let them inside. And when they got in, Maqui got in, too."

That one had the three concerned friends collectively staggered. When Serah looked to her right, she saw that Hope had visibly paled. Lebreau, on the other hand, practically had steam coming out her ears.

"_Maqui?_ What the hell was he doing out there?" Lebreau exclaimed. She was halfway over the bar, glare fixed on Lucil while her elbow accidentally pressed one of the beer taps and spewed liquid onto the floor behind the counter.

"I didn't mean that literally!" The corporal gestured in denial, almost upsetting her coffee mug, and hastily refuted, "Didn't you pay attention to what I was saying last week? Baralai has Maqui extending his network coverage with relay points – getting into that outpost allowed us an opportunity to snag an ideal location and rig the equipment on their tower. That means Maqui is 'virtually' in there. Or will be, soon."

"Oh," Hope breathed. He had clearly gotten a better grasp on the situation from those details, though the others were at least relieved to know that Maqui had been nowhere near the behemoth.

The color came back to Hope's face and he cracked a half-hearted smile. "Reminds me of Serah's recovery mission. _Operation Farron_ _Part II _ is in full swing now, I guess."

"Yeah. You're spot on, there," Lucil said, a strangely heavy note in her words. "Considering we failed the first time around, this really is a continuation."

_Don't tell me you blame yourself. _

Serah broke the silence before it could settle in and collect dust. "Listen, my sister is tough. I know we can find her and get her out this time. Snow's on top of it, and he never gives up. The only thing we can't do is wake Lightning from stasis, but she's stubborn enough to handle that one herself. Believe me."

From where she had ducked behind the bar to clean up her spill, Lebreau laughed and called out, "Ain't that the truth!" It burst the tense bubble around them all.

"Hmph, I've just got to wonder sometimes," Lucil said with a wry grin. "If your family keeps breeding in these never-say-die genes, some epic hero – I'm talking a Super Snow or a Super Lightning – will eventually come out of the line. Lucky you, right Serah?"

Serah coughed, more than a little uncomfortable. Hope, for his part, merely offered a sympathetic squeeze of her shoulder.

"Are we done for tonight, Lucil?" he asked.

"Yeah, that pretty much covered it," she said, waving in dismissal. "You two should hurry up and socialize."

Shaking her overfull head, Serah slid off her stool and took a very grateful-looking Hope by the arm as she said sweetly, "Thanks, but I think we'll just go home."

* * *

_She really believed me. She's staked all her hopes in that message from Light._

That should not have surprised Hope, and he knew it. The truth was, he doubted Serah's belief in Lightning's promise to return because he was having trouble believing it himself. Half the time he wondered if the dream incident had been just that – a dream. Nothing more than a product of his unconscious, drugged mind trying to reassure itself with promises that he wouldn't have to live with the pain of losing yet another important person in his life forever.

Yet there was the small matter of that precious cake. And while he clung to that, his latest source of stability had come from a wholly different perspective. It revolved around the last thing Snow had said before taking off on the mission to Bravo Station. At the time, Hope had thought it fitting to mention the gist of the promise to Serah from his dream of Lightning, considering the man was hell-bent on pushing his operation to recover the soldier.

"Heh, like she needed to say it," Snow had said, voice deepening with confidence. "I have this gut feeling that Sis would fight her way back from the grave to get to Serah. That doesn't mean it wouldn't be the fight of the century, but hey – it's a lot of ground to cover on your own. Takes time, ya know?"

Those words echoed in Hope's head at intervals throughout the day, every day for the past few weeks. As he and Serah stepped into their darkened home to settle in for the evening, he caught himself dwelling on the words again, and then their speaker. After a month of absence, Snow had only gotten a short break to visit them over the previous weekend. Not that Hope faulted him in any way, he just wondered if it had done more harm than good – broken up Serah's coping routine only to leave it in pieces again. She hadn't been the same since he left.

Hope stared intensely at his mashed-in pillow on the couch.

"You're missing him a lot right now, huh?" he asked. It sounded like a stupid question to his ears once it had crossed his tongue, but he meant it as an invitation for Serah to open up, nonetheless.

_Better to let off the pressure than stew on this until it explodes._

She had been putting water on for tea, as always. At his question, she only sighed and gave a quiet hum in the affirmative, signaling the onset to an uphill battle. Hope thought back to his heated argument with Snow upon returning from that fateful supply trip before his relapse, and he had a vague sensation of the shoe finally being on the other foot.

However, unlike Snow, he had an arsenal to take on the challenge.

Hope padded around the coffee table in his sock-clad feet and came up behind Serah, making no more noise than her own shadow. His hands were on her braid without a thought, and he pulled its feathery tail around to tickle her ear.

"Wha—Hope?" she scolded, hands flying from the electric kettle toward the nuisance. When she batted him away without success, he just got her nose with the wispy hair as well, and then her other ear, her chin, and right between the eyes before he finally earned a round of giggles for the effort. It took Serah a few tries to reclaim her braid.

Squaring her shoulders, Hope planted a kiss on her forehead and teased, "Sis, brooding really doesn't suit you. Trust me – I can brood like a champ."

Serah wrapped him up in a tight hug, seemingly content. Then she almost killed the lightening mood when she opened her mouth.

"What would I do without you?"

It was that accursed melancholy tone again. Everything in him had to derail her from the path back into the doldrums; she'd been in and out of there all week.

"Uh…" Hope said haltingly, fishing for words, "…have more privacy?"

That earned him a weak stomp to the foot. Serah released him and stood back, arms crossed below a glare that would have made the great Lightning proud.

"Rhetorical questions – learn to understand them," she huffed. "And believe me, I have plenty of privacy."

"'Kay." Hope flexed his uninjured toes and pouted for effect anyway. "I was just kidding around. You should know by now that I'm not going anywhere. At least not until Snow gets back here permanently."

The glare melted away, leaving Serah with the dumbstruck look of a small child. "You… what?"

Hope sighed and decided to take the much more submissive posture of sitting cross-legged at her feet. He figured she had been stunned enough without having to look up at him, and he was relieved when she silently joined him on the floor.

_There. More familiar, more comfortable._

"Serah," he began contritely, "I've tried to bring this up with you since Monday. For all I know, you haven't mentioned my birthday because you're planning some surprise party, but the fact remains that I'm turning eighteen in less than a month. It's high time I took care of myself like a responsible adult. I understand that you and Snow need to take care of each other, now. That's how it should be. I don't need to wait around for Snow to eventually kick me out."

At first, Serah opened her mouth to fight back with words, but then she closed it and cocked her head to the side, eyeing him suspiciously. He began to fidget.

"There's something you aren't telling me," she stated. "Spill it."

Despite the sinking feeling in his gut, Hope knew it was useless to lie. She'd seen the truth on his face. So he sighed and muttered, "Can't say I didn't try."

Serah continued to stare him down. Her eyes were boring so deeply into his own that Hope was sure she would read his thoughts if he didn't speak them fast enough.

_Yeah, my thoughts that are already disturbing enough to me…_

Lacking alternatives, Hope calmly explained in the most businesslike voice he could muster, "Look, I currently live on the couch, and after last weekend it kind of… came to my attention that you guys are going to need a lot more privacy. Not that you would've— I mean, I didn't expect you to notice, but I disappeared bright and early Saturday morning." He coughed, wishing to every goddess out there that Serah hadn't turned tomato red with near-instantaneous understanding, and more, that he hadn't mirrored her.

His eyes found a dust bunny on the floor. "Let's just say I need my sanity."

"But… you're…" Serah began, also watching the dust bunny with great interest.

He finished, "I'm a heavy sleeper, I know. One that's trained to wake up to your nightmares."

She buried her face in her hands. "I wasn't having a nightmare…"

"Well, I uh… figured that one out _after_ I woke up," Hope muttered.

_At least I don't have to be embarrassed alone, I guess._

Several awkward seconds passed before Serah mumbled a very quiet, "I'm sorry we… disturbed you."

"Hey, don't apologise," Hope countered immediately, daring to lift her chin and face her still flaming cheeks. "The point is, I shouldn't have been around. I'm not upset about it. Life has a way of making things change that need to change, and you don't have to worry about me. I've already talked to Sazh and the office in charge of housing about getting a place of my own, nearby."

"But," Serah began, her demanding eyes too watery for his liking, "not until Snow comes back from the mission, right?"

"It's a promise," Hope assured her.

She just pulled away and pinched his arm. "Well, you're still too thin. How am I supposed to look after you?"

"Ugh," Hope groaned, exasperated. He lay back on the floor. "I can feed myself."

Scooting around, Serah tickled his ribs until he laughed so much he was gasping for air.

"Then do it, twiggy!" she warned, dead serious in spite of her giggles. "Or you'll wake up one morning with a feeding tube."

Hope was well aware that she could make good on the threat, easily. He shot up and immediately replied, "Yes ma'am!"

They both turned to the gurling boil of the kettle that signaled tea time, then back to each other. Their smiles warmed the room like a hearth.

* * *

_Infernal weather,_ Serah thought as she skipped over puddles, tightening her arms around the wadded plastic bag against her chest. She bristled in the October drizzle like some small bird ruffling its feathers to dry. The last thing she needed was for rain to soak Hope's birthday present: a new pair of gloves, made from the hide of a miniature sheep whose supple, treated pelt would likely stiffen in water.

_Not that they couldn't just dry out and be conditioned, but no one should have to 'condition' a new gift._

The gloves had been her idea, but it was Maqui's recommendation that she get them from a particularly talented merchant he'd discovered on a recent survey trip. The man called himself O'aka, and his work was flawless. The only problem had been his nomadic lifestyle of wandering all over Pulse to gather materials, which he then crafted into merchandise and toted just as far to sell to his widespread customer following. He made transactions in the Settlement, on their own Guardian Corps base, at random PSICOM and GC outposts alike, and even aboard transports headed to survey or supply missions.

Of greater interest, according to the smug NORA mechanic, Serah had been able to get the gloves for one reason only: because Lieutenant Baralai had long since discovered O'aka was a walking databank of PSICOM intelligence. The crafty officer had made a deal with the merchant to set up shop, no cost, on base for one week out of every month – along with offering no-questions-asked travel on GC transports – in exchange for information. And O'aka took him up on the offer, just as he took all forms of payment: foodstuffs, daily use items, medicines, other goods for sale, or gil if anyone could spare it. Serah had assembled him a nifty first-aid kit to trade.

_I can't believe he just got back on base today! I've checked every day this month, and he happens to show up on a Thursday in the middle of a storm? Right in the nick of time, too._

These thoughts kept Serah's protective senses keen on her rush back to the Vestige from making her purchase. Even when her already sodden shoe hit a slick patch of mud, she slid deliberately onto her backside in the muck rather than release the precious gift. She squeaked at the impact and whimpered over the cold, squishy sensation under her pants.

"Perfect," she muttered. "Now I have to change—"

"Serah! Over here!"

The booming voice that cut her off was unmistakable. Snow moved so fast that she didn't get the chance to locate him before he'd lifted her from the mire, crushing her in an embrace. "Surprised to see me?" he asked hopefully.

"Would be happier… out of the rain…" Serah gasped. She immediately found herself swept off her feet and hauled down the muddy path.

"Where to?" Snow was grinning from ear to ear.

Serah still held the package in a death grip, but she strained her neck to kiss her hero.

"Home first, then the Vestige!"

* * *

In secret, Hope felt unnaturally energized by the storm that hit on his birthday. He would never have told anyone that he believed Lightning was sending him her own sort of gift – one that manifested itself in his sudden, intense need to feel alive.

But it was more than the brilliant flashes of light and peals of thunder reminding him of her name that made Hope want to dash outside for a moment of clarity. The initial wave of the storm had actually hit during of the night, its presence lulling him into a pleasant dream about his mentor attending his birthday party.

She had been right there, sitting at the bar beside him and making easy conversation – definitely more relaxed than the last time they had spoken in his subconscious. And even though he knew, based on every fact of the situation, that she wasn't really with him, something toward the end of the encounter held the unnerving ring of truth. When he'd felt the change, they had just finished a long chat about Serah and had finally talked their way around to his line of work, in the manner of reunited friends.

"_You probably think it's funny," Hope remarked, pulling the wrench Maqui had given him from the pocket of his coveralls to deposit it on the bar. It had a bright red bow tied around it, which he promptly removed and tied onto his wrist. At least now something about him looked festive, and he wondered for a moment why he'd worn stained work clothes for his own birthday._

_Lightning quirked an eyebrow at him, like she was wondering the same thing. "Unexpected, maybe. Was it really your goal, to become a mechanic and a pilot?"_

_Shrugging, Hope doctored up a mug of coffee with a half-spoonful of sugar and passed it to her as he said, "No, I guess life sort of— happened, somewhere in the middle of my goal to make you proud." He held her gaze, weighing it. "Am I on the right track?"_

_Hope had expected her to flick his head, or otherwise blow off the rather forward question – she was, after all, a creation of his imagination. But that wasn't her response. She took a drink of the coffee and looked back at him in confusion, bordering on accusation._

"_How did you know I liked it this way?"_

"_I didn't," he replied, a chill running down his spine when he reminded himself, again, that this was a dream. That she probably didn't take her coffee just like his._

"_Well you got the coffee right," Lightning said, "and I expect you'll do exactly what needs to be done with this flying mechanic gig, too. Just… take care of yourself, okay? I didn't save your life so you could work yourself to death." _

Hope couldn't remember if he had replied. At that point in the exchange – thanks to whatever devious mechanism of the mind was responsible for redirecting dreams that burrow too deeply into the subconscious – he'd watched the atmosphere of the pub spin and blur into pale gray walls. He suddenly found himself in his old home in Palumpolum, rushing from his room toward the sounds and smells of his mother baking a birthday cake. His father even tossed him the morning paper when Hope charged through the living room, freezing the still-coverall-clad teen in his tracks. Hope scanned over the front page, saw the odd date, and looked up in bewilderment. Other than his grown self, it was uncanny – the scene was a match for his eleventh birthday. One glance at Nora's smiling, flour-dusted face and the proud gleam in Bartholomew's eye, and Hope couldn't hold that fantasy together anymore.

Reality's pull on him was far too strong when disbelief in the dream and the smell of coffee joined forces, and he had woken to a rainy birthday with a sense of profound longing.

_I should be grateful. In a way, I got to see them all today._

Even discounting that, Hope considered, yet again, how lucky he was to have made it to eighteen at all.

The thought propelled him off the couch. He downed the coffee Serah had left on the hot plate for him, pulled on jeans and a clean, army green t-shirt, and brushed his teeth. Finally, he looked at his face in the cracked bathroom mirror – that one had been his fault – trying to see the change. Truth be told, other than the strangely wild look of his hair and eyes that was nonexistent in childhood, Hope just felt taller. He grinned.

_Hm, I didn't smile like that before, either. I think sarcasm eluded me then… that and I was pretty sheltered. Weird how life can twist a smile. I kinda like it, though._

Hope left the bathroom and grabbed his military-issue jacket on the way out the door, rushing happily into the rain. He ran toward the Vestige with his hood down. The water couldn't do anything but calm his hair, and Serah would already be pleased to see he had worn the jeans without torn knees. He was proud to have only doubled the waistband over once to make them stay up – the product of Lucil's training regimen on top of his sister's cooking.

A more innocent smile tugged at his face when he thought about how Serah had made his day. She'd given up on the futile attempts at a surprise party, instead opting to let him sleep in and go to the Vestige early to help them prepare dinner. It was perfect – Hope hated the idea of sitting around, waiting to be summoned while everyone else did all the fun stuff. Events like a birthday screamed for a reunion in their circle of friends, so the pub was all theirs for today.

Those thoughts floated him along down the street full of puddles, and he even caught himself whistling… up until he was totally blindsided by a splashing, rain-soaked giant barreling toward him from a cross street.

"Holy—!" Hope cried, skidding to a stop so fast that he careened backward, hopelessly flailing. A massive hand grabbed him by the collar of his jacket and righted him at the last second. Breathless, Hope lifted wide green eyes to meet Snow's patented heroic grin. He shook his head at the unexpected sight of a muddied Serah in the arms of her fiance.

Snow laughed, releasing him. "Happy birthday, kid—er, man!"

"Thanks, I think," Hope said, still rattled and pulsing with adrenaline. When he saw Serah shivering through her laughter, he snapped to his senses.

"Are you okay, Sis?"

Serah tightened her arms around what looked like a plastic bag and said brightly, "Oh yeah. Just slipped in the mud, nothing to worry about."

Hope shot Snow a look of gratitude laced with impatience.

"Don't just stand there, Hero – get her home!" he ordered, grinning and punching Snow's arm as he walked past them. "See you guys in a bit!"

* * *

Serah was becoming a die-hard fan of mud. In the past, it had been a nuisance, and more recently it had just been a tool for fun and games, but this time around it afforded her a shower with company. Very gorgeous, very eager company.

_It's been a long month._

Of course, about fifteen minutes later, they both begrudgingly accepted that actual cleaning was the purpose of the hot water and soap.

"Hold still!" she cried, trying to scrub Snow's back with the sudsy wash rag while he persisted in rinsing his blonde mane. The cascade of water was spraying off his shoulders and getting in her eyes, thwarting her efforts. "And it's my turn to wash this ten-ton hair that you can't live without!"

The more she scolded, the more he laughed. Eventually, Snow squeezed past her in the narrow shower and gently pushed her under the water. He dumped about half the bottle of shampoo onto her head and started massaging it in, ordering her to close her eyes. The whole process, to her great surprise, nearly put her to sleep.

"Hey there, don't fall out on me." Snow shut off the water and helped her out of the shower-tub. He wrapped a towel around her before the chill could settle in.

Serah watched him thoughtfully as he dried off, asking with a soft smile, "What are you thinking, right now?"

"That I can't believe you let me mess with your hair," Snow teased, not missing a beat. "Kid's really moving out, huh? Gotta envy how he always does the right thing."

"Snow!" Serah wasn't sure whether she felt more hurt over the truth of that statement or the fact that Snow was pleased about it.

Of course, his smile dropped away at the sight of her teary eyes and he was quick to apologise, but it stung. It seemed that everyone else was more than happy about Hope growing up and letting her go – Sazh, Snow, their friends, even Hope himself. She was angry at Snow for joking about it, yet she had to forgive him.

He had, after all, gotten released from his operational duties in time to come home for Hope's birthday celebration. Snow's actions always spoke louder than his words, though Serah prayed that his mouth would one day catch up. It was obvious that he did care about their little brother. Men baffled her, sometimes.

_And Hope's really leaving, now. Might as well get with the program._

* * *

"_Die_, vermin!"

Hope should have known better than to enter the kitchen after hearing that pronouncement of doom upon some poor creatures within. Curiosity would be the death of him.

When he pushed open the door, his jaw dropped. Lucil was a human inferno charging from the back of the kitchen, her fiery blade making rapid stabs at the floor as if she was spearing fish. Squeaky, furry, mouse-shaped fish. In the same instant, Lebreau shrieked and dodged both rodents and killer, trapped on her way to the fridge with a large, frosted cake on a platter.

Then the two collided.

There was a breathless moment as the cake soared across the kitchen toward Hope, arcing perfectly to strike its target. He was frozen in place, too stunned to move. It would've been too late, anyway. Hope contemplated trying to take a bite on contact, almost wistfully. But Lucil was much faster than the airborne dessert. She twisted around in front of him, catching the cake in her hands like a football.

An explosive football. It wasn't the greatest payoff for the receiver. Bits of white icing and pink fluff burst all over her and sprayed the door around Hope, inches from hitting his face.

He had the presence of mind to cover his mouth before his body spasmed with laughter. He slid to his knees on the tile.

Lucil spun and glared at him, the fistfuls of cake in her hands mercifully not flying at his head. Maybe she pitied the birthday boy.

"You have five seconds to get it together, Estheim," she growled.

_Yep, about to lose my grace period._

Hope clamped his other hand over his mouth as well, breathed deeply and counted backward from five. He would live, untainted by creamy icing smears and – from what he could assume – strawberry cake clumps.

"I-I thought Serah was baking the cake," Hope said cautiously, after the tense silence.

Lebreau trembled with agitation and licked the icing from her fingers like a wounded animal before she dumped the empty platter into the sink. "Cake's the only thing that could be done ahead of time, and we needed the oven for the food. I should've just baked alone."

"It was an accident!" Lucil exclaimed, flinging bits of pink and white when she waved her arms. "And you shouldn't have mice in your kitchen!"

Hope's eyes nearly popped out of his head. "You're afraid of mice?" Only the concept of Lightning fearing the dark could have been more shocking. It was unbelievably ridiculous.

"No! I just won't stand for a rodent invasion!" The corporal was fuming too much to elaborate, but he didn't have to wait long.

Lebreau pointed her finger in Lucil's face and chided, "Oh, so _three mice_ calls for all-out war! Mark my words, I will never again make the exception of letting you bring that gunblade past my bar!"

Daring to stand, Hope peered across the kitchen to the tiny, bloodied bodies of the mice. Lucil's beautiful red blade was plastered with cake on the floor.

_Wow, she really did let go of her prized possession. She never does that. Never._

He stared at it, stunned. "Why…?"

Both women stopped arguing at his quiet question. Lucil followed his eyes to the crimson gunblade, hastily picking it up to wipe it off, but Lebreau just threw her hands up at them.

"What, is it some great mystery?" Lebreau grumbled, flipping her dark hair impatiently. "Obviously she dropped the gunblade, but even with two hands you can't just catch a flying cake. The stupid weapon's fine."

Hope shot a glare at Lebreau. "Nothing is worth throwing down _that_ blade."

To everyone's disbelief, Lucil turned about as red as her hair.

"But it's-it's… the thought that counts?" Hope tried to recover. He'd somehow embarrassed his trainer, and he wasn't much a fan of being embarrassed himself.

The attempt fell flat, though. Lucil's stare burned a hole in the floor as she huffed, "Can't teach you to take care of weapons when I'm such a bad example."

"What? No! I wasn't trying to criticize," Hope pressed. He ran a hand through his hair, a nervous habit. "Look, I've already mastered taking care of weapons. I can break them down, put them together – even manipulate them into whatever I want! I just need you to teach me technique, and you're really good at that."

It finally dawned on Hope that whatever he said was only making things worse – if Lucil's speechless, red-faced expression was anything to go by – when Lebreau burst out laughing.

"Oh, honey," she choked, "stop talking! Do you even _hear _yourself?"

Maqui walked up behind him and clapped a hand on his shoulder. Hope jumped and twisted his head around – he hadn't even heard him come in.

Grinning at the exchange between them all, the NORA mechanic calmly explained, "Innuendo's lost on this one, Lebreau," and grabbed a broom from the corner. He exited through the swinging kitchen door, leaving Hope to the wolves.

_Innuendo?_ Hope may not have gotten whatever Lebreau found so hilarious, but he understood well enough that she was laughing at his expense.

"Would you get a grip?" he muttered. He squeezed past them to scoop up the dead mice with a dustpan, depositing them into the trash.

Lebreau wiped a tear from her eye. She poked him in the arm with a spatula and teased, "Oh no, this is way too much fun. Forget the cake. I'd love to see a sparring match sometime."

"You'd just see me get pinned to the floor," Hope said drily, rinsing the bloody dustpan under the faucet. "Trying to fight back isn't all that interesting."

Lebreau was sniggering uncontrollably, but she wasn't the one who whacked him in the back of the head. Apparently Lucil had recovered.

"Estheim, cut the self-deprecating crap." She slid her reverted gunblade into its holster, a piece that looked oddly appropriate even over her civilian clothes. The holster hit the counter beside him.

"Now get out of the kitchen and clean this thing properly. If it wasn't your birthday, you'd be in training today, so I expect serious effort. Go!"

Rubbing his head, more on impulse than from actual pain, Hope snatched the holstered weapon and hurried out. No amount of cake splatter made that woman any less intimidating. He was grateful for the reprieve, and he knew better than to say another word.

That and he'd wanted to get his hands on the crimson gunblade for years. The Guardian Corps didn't issue models like Lucil's anymore – original types without numerous modifications. What little had ever been done to her weapon, Hope could tell the changes were made for efficiency and balance. Nothing fancy except the color. It was the closest he would ever come to a study of what Lightning's gunblade was like, and he wanted to be about as familiar with that weapon as with its wielder. He was a sucker for beautiful, deadly things.

_Lucil knew. I bet she pulled this especially for my birthday. I'll have to thank her._

Giddy about the project, Hope settled in to work at a table in one of the far corners of the pub. He just stared at the blade for the first few minutes, unfolded in all its glory on the wooden surface. What finally distracted him was Maqui, who casually dropped a tool bag on the end of the table in passing.

"Thought you might need it," he called over his shoulder as he wandered away.

"Thanks!" Hope dug in the bag, hunting for a small screwdriver. His jaw dropped at the sight of a red bow.

_You can't be serious…_

It was tied around a beat-up wrench, with a small note attached. In Maqui's jumpy, all-caps handwriting it said:

_DIDN'T KNOW WHAT TO GET YOU, BUT YOU FOUGHT ME OVER THIS STUPID WRENCH BEFORE. JUST DON'T HIT ME WITH IT. – MAQUI (AKA THE GUY WHO BROUGHT YOU CLOTHES)_

And as an afterthought, he'd added:

_P.S. GLAD YOU DIDN'T GROW UP TO BE A WOMAN. THAT WOULD'VE BEEN AWKWARD. CONGRATS, GIRLY MAN._

Hope pocketed the note, tied the bow around his wrist and laughed to himself in the corner until he cried.

* * *

The party was in full swing. That meant, to Serah, that the food platters lay picked apart, the trash was full and the guys were just mellowed out enough to tell every story under the sun about their recent adventures. She learned more from gatherings like this than summary reports.

She also learned that the guest of honor really did need more socializing.

Hope had gotten through the first half of the evening easily. It was some combination of everyone hugging and gushing and eating in seamless progression that apparently kept him at ease. Even the emotionally challenging moments hadn't dampened his spirits, like when Serah gave him the wonderful gloves – though he'd been misty-eyed when he kissed her forehead, whispered a quiet "Thank you, Sis" and tried them on. Not even when Sazh handed him the key to an apartment, although Serah had shed a few tears after Hope grinned and tackled the man in a hug.

No, it was the scene of their friends settling down to just chat, drink, and play cards that made Hope shy away, where he ended up working on some project in the corner. Serah felt torn between aggressively trying to include him and leaving him alone, because she knew drawing attention to Hope's avoidance might just make him more uncomfortable. That left the iffy option of getting one of the guys to draw him in, but the lot of them were a little too far gone to help her with any sort of tact. Sazh would've been perfect, had he not left with Dajh before things got too rowdy.

Running out of ideas, Serah wandered to the bar and pulled up a stool next to Lucil. It occurred to her that Lebreau's flitting around from bar to table with drinks was the only element connecting the corporal to the party, anyway.

"Getting tired of this bunch?" Serah joked, sipping at a glass of water.

Lucil only shrugged and continued to study her reddish drink. "No, I've just heard all their stories from other sources. I'm trying not to let the possible security violations ruin my night."

"Oh." Serah hadn't been expecting that one. She covered quickly, "Well, if you need a distraction anyway, I could use your help. You see, Hope's—"

"Kind of absorbed with the gunblade, I know," Lucil finished. "It's his birthday. Who cares if he wants to do his own thing?" She leaned over her drink as she said this, her long red hair slipping from her shoulder to form a barrier between their faces.

_You care, _Serah deduced. She'd been on the receiving end of the tactics for avoiding emotional investment from her own sister.

Which was precisely why she changed her strategy. She saw Lebreau approaching them again, returning to the bar for refills and already within earshot. Knowing this, Serah sighed and said, "It's not that I want to pester him, but I think Lebreau planned on making him a special drink since the cake… didn't turn out."

"Oh yeah, I almost forgot!" Lebreau exclaimed. Her timing could not have been more perfect. She planted her hands on her hips and huffed, "I told him about it earlier, but he kinda blew me off – said some crap about wanting to 'keep his focus.' Who needs focus for a party?"

Serah laughed, seeing everything fall together as she planned, and started to push her agenda further when Lucil did something that made her job easier than cake.

The corporal rolled her eyes at Lebreau and muttered, "You expect to talk him into drinking for no good reason?"

"Well… yeah," Lebreau stammered. "Who needs a reason?"

"Hope does," Lucil stated, unfazed. "All those guys are drinking to unwind, I drink to forget about stuff, and Serah drinks because she's a natural accommodator." Serah felt a twinge of irritation at the statement, but she let the soldier finish.

"So unless you can give Hope a better reason to drink and be unfocused than not drink and concentrate, he won't buy into it."

Lebreau just cocked her head to the side and grinned like a fiend. "Well, since you seem to know all about how we'd fail, I bet you can find a way to succeed."

_Why didn't I think of that?_ By that point, Serah had become a happy spectator.

"Maybe I can, but maybe I don't want to," Lucil replied, taking a sip of her drink.

Then Lebreau pulled an ace. "You owe me for that cake," she said coolly, challenging smirk firmly in place as she crossed her arms on the bar for a staring match. "And anyway, I dare you."

"Fine," Lucil grumbled, rubbing her temples. "But on one condition – you mix the drinks weaker than usual, at least for him."

Both Serah and Lebreau shot her incredulous looks at once, and Serah spoke first. "Drinks? As in more than one?"

"Yes, because the only thing I can think of to make this work is challenging him to a contest. But don't worry, he'll give up fast enough, and no amount of alcohol can really get to me." The soldier said this like she was commenting on a mission plan, and she calmly slid from the bar stool to cross the room.

Stunned, Serah looked back at Lebreau and asked, "You believe her?"

"Without a doubt," Lebreau remarked, shrugging. "I've served that crazy red-head enough drinks to know." Then, she chuckled to herself at some memory.

"I kinda like testing her limits for the hell of it."

"Hey!" Serah squeaked. "You'd better not do anything like that tonight."

Lebreau snatched her water away and refilled it. "Oh, quit your fussing, Big Sister. I'll make sure it's a fair contest."

* * *

Hope's eyes flitted up from the crimson blade at the sound of approaching boots. Seeing its owner, he picked it up from the table and held it out for inspection.

"The gears could use some oil," he remarked critically. When Lucil didn't seem to notice or mind, he handed it over.

She folded the weapon into gun form and holstered it. "That's enough work for the birthday boy. You should take a break."

"What for?" Hope asked, confused and a bit suspicious. He stuffed his hands into his pockets. "The guys are playing cards. I suck at cards. Whatever you'd call the opposite of a poker face, that's what I've got."

"Did I say anything about cards?" the corporal asked tiredly, searching his face for some sign of understanding. After a few seconds, she apparently hadn't found what she was looking for, which was no surprise to Hope – he knew full well how clueless he looked because it matched his actual state of cluelessness.

Finally, Lucil gestured at the noisy group across the room, quirked an eyebrow and added, "Did I say anything about the guys, either?"

For a split second, Hope tried to reconcile the image of his former escort, standing there in cargo pants and a black tank top, flaming hair down, with the words she said. 'Flirtation' came to mind, but that was so ludicrous he dismissed it. She had to have some other agenda.

"What do you mean?" he asked shrewdly. Her level stare confirmed that he was right to suspect a plot.

"I propose a different game," she replied. "A friendly drinking contest for an eighteen-year-old. That is, unless you don't think you can take me on."

She might as well have socked him in the stomach. Hope thought, for the first time in many weeks, of Hana Rhem's words on the subject before her untimely death. He had an instinctive feeling that he should decline, but the fact that his former sacrificial comrade would have wanted it, piled on top of the challenge from his long-time friend and trainer, was tipping the scales.

Clearly sensing his hesitation, Lucil tacked on, "So, you in or out?"

_When did I become such a sucker for a good challenge, too? Light, if you could see me now…_

Hope shrugged, trying to seem unaffected. "In. I've got a decent shot, being a guy and all."

"Oh, you'll eat those words," she said casually, but the promise was in her smile.

* * *

Four drinks in, Hope had expected to be done with analyzing the properties of his green drink – the non-luminescent, non-virgin form of what looked like a Wild Card. Something called a Chu-hi. But somewhere along the line, he'd stopped thinking about its taste and started speaking his mind.

He drew a smiley face in the condensation on his fifth glass. "It's bittersweet, you know?" he said lightly, grinning at the way he wanted to wax philosophical.

"What is?" Lucil asked. She drew angry eyebrows on the smiley face, an action that made him laugh far too much. He noted the effect hazily but didn't care.

"Happiness, suffering, growing up, this drink… a lot of things…" Hope trailed off and stared at her half-full glass.

"Hmph, you could've just said 'life'."

His eyes drifted up to the speaker in awe. "Yes. Exactly." Another thought occurred to him, and before he could stop himself he asked, "Hey Lucil, what's your first name?"

_Where the hell did that come from, Estheim? You're being nosy._

Rather than say anything, she pulled a wallet from her jeans pocket and slapped a military ID on the bar, face down. It took him a moment to bring the small print on its laminated back into focus, the letters eventually standing out to spell the surprisingly girlish name 'Kate.' The ID disappeared from his view in a flash.

"Pretty," Hope said, matching the name to the face he was now studying. "And it fits." He narrowed his cloudy green eyes and searched for an invitation somewhere in hers. "So… can I use it now? Or was that just an FYI – you know, in case I'm interviewed for your background investigation at the ten year mark? 'Cause last time I sounded like a moron for not knowing. Either way, thanks."

Lucil, to his great surprise, actually giggled. She immediately covered her mouth.

"No, no you don't," Hope chided, tugging her wrist to pull her hand down. "Just answer me."

She swatted him away and finally collected herself – shoulders straight, face regaining its mask as she geared up to be noncommittal.

"Whatever."

_Yes, then._

"Okay, Kate," he began in a low, conspiratorial tone, "tell me something. Is your glass half-empty or half-full?" When she just stared at him, a blush creeping over her face, Hope laughed and pulled her glass closer, laying his head on the bar and watching the bubbling red liquid slosh back to a level state. The room swayed gently in much the same way.

Finally, Lucil tired of watching him watch her glass and polished it off. "Now it's empty," she said, catching her breath, "but_ you're_ at least half-full, from the looks of things. I'll kick your ass at this contest pretty soon."

"That so?" Hope felt sure she'd just killed her fourth glass, making them even, and it had to have been a substantial amount of alcohol so far to make the corporal giggle _and_ blush.

He raised his head and tilted it back to gaze at the fuzzy halos around the colored paper lamps above the bar. As if he'd received a profound revelation, he said, "If I'm half-full, you are too."

"You underestimate this one," a different voice countered. Hope let his head fall to face Lebreau, who had returned to refill Lucil's glass. "Just take it slow, honey. Always gotta look out for yourself."

She winked at him before sliding another blood-red drink over the bar to Lucil, who muttered off-hand, "Yeah, wouldn't that be pathetic. Save your life over and over only to watch you drink yourself to death."

The strangest feeling of intense déjà vu made Hope's skin prickle. After a minute or so of fumbling around in his mind, he finally hit on the previous night's dream. On how he hadn't answered Lightning.

Hope turned his glazed eyes to the bow around his wrist. "But... it's not…"

_Possible. Not possible, just… ugh. Sad. No, disturbing. Or confusing? I give up, it's pissing me off._

First, he glared at his green drink and blamed it. Surely the alcohol had brought his imagination to life in a cruel twist of circumstance. That had to be it. But then, having gained nothing from that exercise, he decided to just eliminate the stuff – heading off any subsequent déjà vu at the pass – with several rapid gulps.

Naturally, this did nothing for the far greater problem of the woman sitting next to him.

"Hope," she called, but he couldn't seem to avert his eyes from that red bow. "Hope, listen to me."

A hand lifted his face and turned his head. "Not so fast. Do you want to lose?"

He tried to think about the right answer to that, the effort compounded as he peered into the depths of near-violet blue eyes that were so dark he couldn't read anything past the concern. Only a lingering instinct told him there was more.

"Yes?" he mouthed quietly, but that sounded wrong. "I-I mean no. I mean…" Hope shifted his focus past her, off to his right, and watched the group of his friends playing cards. Up to that point, Lebreau had done a bang-up job of running interference for their contest, but for once, he would've liked it if Snow had charged in to cause a disturbance, or if Serah had stepped in to scold him.

Mainly because he didn't trust himself to answer a simple question.

In the face of his stammering, Lucil laughed and shook her head. "Alright, new goal. You're way more shot that you should've been thanks to number five, so here's the objective: take it easy while I finish my fifth, then make it to seven. Got it?"

Hope nodded mutely. He was honestly afraid of what he might say.

"You're gonna forget all of this, aren't you?" Lucil sighed. Lebreau had come around to refill Hope's drink, and after a wave and a quiet request from the soldier, she passed a black marker over the bar.

"Hold still." Pushing back his bangs, Lucil drew what felt like a couple of lines on his forehead. The artist's arm in his field of vision was making his eyes cross, so he closed them.

_Much better…_

Hope snapped them open at a flick to his forehead.

"And stay awake!"

* * *

Drinks six and seven must have happened, in between grudgingly swallowed sips of water. Hope wasn't quite sure. In fact, he wasn't sure of much anymore besides the presence of that confounded woman who refused to let him rest, now stubbornly helping him walk.

Well, that and the drizzle on his skin.

_Why are we outside?_

He vaguely remembered some discussion between Serah and Lucil, the soldier explaining that she needed to get him home before he passed out. That Snow was too far gone, as were the other guys, and that Serah wasn't strong enough to handle it.

_That must've been it. Maker, I'm tired._

He was too cold to sleep, though. Tripping along through puddles and thoroughly confused at how Lucil could keep him steady on the path home.

But they did eventually make it to the door, into the dark living room, and straight to the couch. Hope was so happy to see his couch that he flopped right onto it. Then he just laughed at the ceiling over how awkwardly he'd landed.

"You're crazy – you know that, right?" Lucil said. She was tugging at his legs for some reason, and he forced himself to sit up, fully intent on shooing her away so he could sleep.

"What're you—?" he started to ask, but he was cut short when he saw that she'd grabbed his boots, which he neglected to remove at the door. "No, I-I can…"

Hope leaned over and worked at the laces with far too much difficulty. He felt lethargic and dazed, unwilling to even change position once he'd removed the boots, so he just rested his forearms on his thighs and smiled at Lucil apologetically.

Sitting there on the floor, she didn't look like herself. The soldier was drenched in rainwater and her hands were smeared with mud from his boots. She gave him a sad half-smile. "You can sleep now," she said, starting to get up.

But that smile was bothering him. That or the mud.

_My fault…_

"Kate." Hope caught her wrists. He pressed her hands against the surface of his jeans, scrubbing her palms clean on the fabric just above his knees. That was where stains belonged. It was better. Or it would have been, had he released her. Instead, he held on and found himself confronted with a look he recognised.

Vulnerability. A different pair of blue eyes he wished he had responded to. Not once, but twice.

_Why didn't I?_ He couldn't answer that, but he was compelled to answer the broken girl in front of him. Hope took her face in his hands, wiping moisture from her cheek that might have been rain or tears with his thumb. Kate opened her mouth to form a silent word, but he couldn't make it out. He puzzled over the way she nervously bit her lip, focusing there, until suddenly all his misgivings were shattered by her quick, soft intake of breath and the open request in her eyes. That was the first reason Hope closed the remaining inches. He kissed her once in answer, barely making contact, then once more because he was sorry and confused and lonely.

And because he didn't know how else to fix any of it.

His back met the couch when she returned the kisses, willingly. Hope knew it by the taste of cherry on her tongue, the fingers in his hair and the fire under his skin at every single point of pressure. For a moment he felt a dull twinge of guilt, considered stopping himself, but that decision was made for him.

Hope's awareness rapidly slipped away until his thoughts were drowned in darkness.

* * *

"You wanted to talk to me this morning… why, again?" Serah blinked her tired eyes at the steaming cup of coffee in her hands, then again at the woman seated across from her.

Corporal Lucil was, to put it lightly, a wreck. Not markedly in appearance – though her messy ponytail was uncharacteristic – but in every other sense. She was clearly nursing a mild hangover and her bloodshot eyes suggested she'd either not slept, been crying, or both. That was what worried Serah the most.

_I really hope I'm wrong about that._

Lucil shrank back from the scrutinizing gaze and stared at her coffee. "I just… have to tell you something, before you find out on your own."

"Yes?" _Uh oh. What happened?_

"Hope," she began, her face turning a rather unsettling shade of red, "he— I mean, we… kissed. And I-I really should've shown more restraint. I'm sorry, I couldn't help it—"

"Stop, stop," Serah interjected. She waved her hands before covering her ears, which she unblocked after a steady silence. "Just—please tell me that was it. Kissing, I mean."

Nodding, Lucil only bothered to add, "You've got nothing to worry about."

"Then why are we having this discussion?" Serah sat back and crossed her arms, feeling a bit irritated that she'd dragged herself out of bed at such an early hour. Hope was a young man. Naturally, he would kiss a girl eventually, might have done so before and been too shy to ever speak of it, for all Serah knew.

"Because I don't think Hope knew what he was doing," the soldier murmured at her coffee. "And if he doesn't say anything to you, that's fine. Maybe he won't remember a thing. But I had to talk to someone I could trust to keep quiet, because I don't intend to ever bring this up again. Understand? Not ever."

Serah's mouth gaped in surprise. "Why not? I thought you were telling me this because you wanted permission or something. Which is… appreciated, just not necessary."

"No. I'm telling you this because I need to vent before I lose my mind," Lucil stated, stoic voice edged with despair, "and because I think we both know this is going nowhere. After all, it isn't _my_ name he calls out in his sleep, now is it?"

Swallowing thickly, Serah played with the end of her braid and tried to think of a good way to respond. Clearly, the kiss was neither simple nor meaningless to Corporal Lucil. Here was a woman who had protected and cared for Hope about as much as Serah had, albeit in different ways. A woman outmatched before she had even come on the scene, incapable of landing a single blow against the near legendary soldier in Hope's mind that was so similar to herself. Perhaps Lucil had harbored suspicions before, but now she felt it with conviction. That had to burn.

_What do you say to the woman who loves the boy who loves your sister?_

Nothing. Serah walked around the table, pulled up a chair next to Lucil, and hugged her into a sympathetic shoulder.

* * *

It was late when Hope finally came back to consciousness. So late that he had to wonder if the sunlight stabbing his eyes through the window meant sunrise or sunset; he thought long and hard on that before determining the angle of western origin could only signal evening.

_What happened? Maker, my head really is going to explode this time._

Hope just lay where he was and moaned, mourning his inevitable passing. He knew better than to think that level of pain had come from anything other than a life-threatening condition. Still, some nagging mental voice told him he was wrong.

A full ten – possibly twenty or thirty – minutes passed before it dawned on him that he was at home, alone, and there was no IV attached to his arm. That meant everyone had either given him up for dead or let him be because he wasn't in danger at all.

Another five – possibly ten or twenty – minutes passed before he mentally slapped himself for thinking his friends would ever leave him for dead. Besides, the soured taste of cherry in his mouth reminded him of medicine.

_You wouldn't give cough syrup to a dying boy, right?_

Settling on his new understanding that life would go on, Hope attempted to sit up.

He promptly rolled to the side and vomited. The mental argument started back up, insisting that he really was dying, but his bleary eyes could not get over the fact that they were staring not at a floor covered in puke, but a wastebasket that had been sitting there all along, as if waiting for him to give it purpose.

More disconcertingly, he saw a bottle of pain reliever and a glass of water within reach on the coffee table.

_If it's this bad, where on Pulse is Serah? Ugh, I haven't been this confused in a long time... Ow! That makes it worse._

Hope winced at the sound of a door shutting, followed by heavy footsteps, but when Snow crossed the living room and laughed at him – his own blonde hair freely rebelling without the bandanna – Hope could only hate the man for about five seconds before wanting to hug him.

Because the first words out of Snow's mouth shed glorious light on everything.

"Hangover kicked your ass, huh?" Then he put on a pot of coffee and went back to his bedroom.

_I need to get this under control._

Hope reached for the painkillers, threw up again, and repeated that process until he'd succeeded in downing two pills with the water.

It was an hour later, after Hope finally made it from the couch to the bathroom, that he further confirmed the truth of Snow's words and the cause of his own misery. He'd been lazily brushing his teeth when he saw it. There, on the reflection of his forehead, was a black number seven.

Hope let his toothbrush just hang in the corner of his mouth, foamy paste dribbling down as he pressed in closer to the cracked mirror. He blinked and stared stupefied for several seconds. The number had apparently been drawn in reverse for this very reason, and its presence dragged something deep in his muddled brain to the surface: seven equaled the drinks he must've consumed. Other than that, Hope could only remember taking Lucil up on a challenge, one that involved his hazy mental images of green and red beverages and an ID card with the name 'Kate.'

Nothing more. At some point he'd made it home; maybe Snow had even carried him. That seemed logical. He'd woken up on the couch as usual, having removed only his boots.

_So they got me to drink, after all. Hope I didn't do anything stupid._

* * *

**Endnote: After going through all that, I was dying at some of beta-roomie's editing notes. I post them here for your pleasure.**

**- After Serah's thoughts in the bar: "oh god, Hope & Snow working together toward a mutual goal. TERRIFYING."**

**- After Serah's comment that Lightning would stubbornly wake herself up: "It'll be like the Hulk getting angry, only scarier. SPOILER ALERT."**

**- After Lucil's comment about Serah's family breeding stock, and Serah's discomfort: "no kidding, she's the one who is gonna have to birth that titan."**

**- After Hope explained why he was moving out: "Thank you, Psychiatrist!Hope. Do you have a pamphlet on ****Pining Over Long-lost Crushes Trapped in Crystal**** too? It'll help with your newfound desire to be stable."**

**- Next to the awkward scene of Hope explaining that he'd disappeared on Saturday morning: "THAT is the one-shot spinoff you should write, fyi." (on that note… takers, anyone?)**

**- When the above situation was fully explained: "Ugh Hope ****seriously**** – when you awkwardly overhear your roommates having sex, you don't bring it up! You buy a fan and wait until they move out to get married in Texas. OR SOMETHING LIKE THAT." (incidentally, my roomie is not referring to myself and my husband, but to our OTHER two former roomies who are now married. Her room was next to theirs .)**

**- When Hope contemplated his enjoyment of the stormy weather: "please don't try to 'catch' the lightning, that can only end badly."**

**- And when he wanted to dash outside: "NO I ALREADY TOLD YOU ****NO.****"**

**- When Snow commented on Hope doing the right thing: "Snow's thoughts: 'Hope is such a bro; way to stop cockblocking me'."**

**- During the cake launch: "omg is this like an I Love Lucy skit? :P"**

**- After Hope saw the bloody mice: "she seriously butchered the mice? Wtf who ****does**** that?"**

**- When Hope explained to Lebreau that he'd just be pinned to the floor: "****WANKY****."**

**- During the drinking challenge: "Alternate Scene-**

**Hope: Is your muffin buttered?**

**Lucil: …wtf**

**Hope: Would you like me to assign someone to butter your muffin?**

**Lucil: …are you hitting on me or just quoting 'Mean Girls'?**

**Hope: Can't I do both?**

**Lucil: Only if you're gay, sorry."**

**- When Hope threw up: "ugh seriously WORST FEELING EVER OMG."**

**- And finally, at the very end: "DUN DUN DUN…"**


	19. Realise

**A/N: Heh, *ahem* I apologise ONCE AGAIN for the delay. I believe the length of this chapter speaks for itself. And this is after EXTENSIVE edits and cuts. My beta has emphasized and re-emphasized how very grueling it was and how much trouble she had to go through with the editing process. The pages were bleeding pink corrections -_- I'm just thankful I didn't have to try and split it into two chapters! Anyway, Happy Easter all, and enjoy the fruits of our labor. Reviews are always greatly appreciated ^_^ (NEEEEEEEEED *pleading face*)**

**Oh yeah, and I DO have a few terms/points of interest:**

***Skin beetles: also called 'hide beetles'; belong to the family of flesh-eating beetles Dermestidae **

***When it comes to deadly electric shock, higher voltage will automatically mean greater danger, but it's the path of current that typically determines whether an electric shock kills or not.**

***ACFT: an abbreviation for "aircraft"**

***Creatures placed in winter terrain in this chapter are monsters ACTUALLY FOUND in such terrain from FFXIII-2 (meaning Bresha Ruins-300AF; Vile Peaks had sucky selection).**

***Flameout can be caused by ice crystals coating the insides of a turbine engine and snuffing out the 'flame' of combustion. I didn't make that up. There are emergency procedures to restart in mid-flight, but from what I could tell, those generally require reliance on additional engines (much larger aircraft) and are accomplished in less severe weather conditions. The smaller the aircraft, the more serious the situation.**

Realise (your friends)

"Remind me again why I'm breaking my back for you," Maqui said, letting his end of the couch drop to the floor, which kicked up a small cloud of dust. He wiped his forehead on his sleeve and flopped over the arm of the couch like a ragdoll, burying his face in a throw pillow.

"Because I'm your favorite apprentice ever?" Hope tried. His innocent tone of voice was at odds with his wicked smirk. Not that Maqui could see it.

"No," came the positively unenthusiastic reply, muffled by the pillow.

Hope choked down a laugh. "Because you're my biggest fan?"

"_Hell _no."

"You're my friend?" Hope tried again. He tip-toed around the couch, took advantage of Maqui's lack of attention and grabbed his legs from behind, flipping him forward onto the cushions.

Flailing, Maqui finally regained his bearings and grabbed the throw pillow. "You get one more chance, jerk!" he shouted, and he took a badly-aimed shot at Hope's smug face with the pillow.

"_Best_ friend." Hope easily caught the pillow and threw it back.

As a triumphant smile spread over his face, Maqui just reclined on the couch and crossed his arms behind his head. "Took ya long enough. Sometimes I wonder if your brain might be reaching full capacity. It's that, or you get so preoccupied with work-related crap you can barely function on a day off."

"What? I can _function_ just fine!" Hope huffed. He walked behind the couch and lifted its back just enough to freak Maqui out when it tilted forward. The blonde sprang up immediately like a frightened cat. "But seriously, thanks for helping with the furniture," Hope said, grinning.

"Yeah yeah," Maqui muttered, waving off the open gratitude. "You can thank me by flying our next survey trip. And don't try tellin' me the schedule is out of your hands, 'cause I asked Gippal about it the other day and he said it's your call."

"Ugh, Maqui…" Hope groaned. He buried his face in his arms on the back of the couch. Seconds later, he felt his head being lifted up by a fistful of his hair – Maqui was kneeling on the couch in front of him. Hope shot daggers from his eyes.

"Let go, or I swear—"

"You'll what? Say no?" Maqui released him and shrugged. "We need a pilot, and it might as well be you. Snow's pretty much permanently back since we finished connecting our network relay points, so Serah's gonna be fine. And you're all moved in here! What else were you planning to do for the next few weeks? Work on that silly boomerang some more? If you don't fly, you'll get rusty."

Hope pushed off from the couch and away from his friend's expectant gaze, leaning back against the wall. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "So you accuse me of being obsessed with work, and not five seconds later make it sound like I've been sitting on my ass all this time?" he asked the ceiling. Then he leveled his stormy green glare back on Maqui.

"In case you didn't notice, Gippal threw me into a training squad, so I don't see where in my schedule I could've gotten more air time. And I did fly that one supply trip last month, if you recall," he said pointedly, but Maqui just raised an eyebrow, unfazed.

"So one trip. In… how many months, again?"

"Oh come off it," Hope grumbled, crossing his arms. "I was in recovery for ages. And there aren't exactly a lot of trips going out in the dead of winter."

"Well, there ya go – a perfect reason to take this one!" Maqui rested his chin on the back of the couch and smiled widely like the goofball everyone knew him to be. That made it all the more jarring when he cheerfully threatened, "Either you can tell Gippal you wanna fly for us, or I can skip right over an' ask Baralai to pull some strings for the good of the mission. And trust me, the good of the mission_ always_ wins. Your call, dude."

_Great. When did I become a commodity, exactly?_

Bemused by that consideration, Hope stood silently against the wall for a long minute. This wasn't just an issue with Maqui. He'd been packing away concerns for quite some time – since his birthday, in fact. Hope had seen his entire schedule change within the very next week. He no longer had Tuesday and Thursday combat training with Lucil, but was placed in an available squadron to train with the soldiers every morning except Sundays. Lieutenant Gippal had explained its use in preparing him for future field missions. That had apparently been the plan since Hana Rhem's funeral after the doomed supply trip to Charlie Station, but it never got off the ground due to his relapse. Now, it was no concern.

And for the most part, Hope adapted well to his new routine. After field training, it was a daily toss-up between weapons modifications and transport maintenance. He excelled in both, as he waited to be rotated into the flight schedule. The only issue was a nagging sense of loss – the loss of his freedom in exchange for structure and responsibility. The loss of supervision in exchange for solitude and expectations. Some aspects of the trade-off were exhilarating, some aggravating, and all of it was necessary, but Hope found himself holding tightly to his few precious choices in the midst of his new lifestyle.

He didn't need what little control remained to him thoughtlessly snatched away by his own friends and family.

_And I want to say no. I'm not ready for this yet. This isn't just some routine supply trip – not that those are terribly safe. Still, the survey teams must be getting closer to finding… I don't even know what. An empty wreck? Survivors? Bodies? _

A hard lump stuck in his throat, restricting his breath. It had been a long time since Hope allowed his mind to wander into that territory – to his father's whereabouts. He shoved the thoughts down, along with the lump, and moved on.

"You know, ordering me around like a slave isn't a very 'best-friendly' thing to do," Hope muttered, breaking the silence. He meant it as a joke, but part of him really did feel wounded. "Shouldn't you care about what's best for me? Or does it even matter what I want?"

Maqui cocked his head to the side, looking oddly concerned. "Hey, I had to pick one. Because what you _want_ is to bury yourself in work. What's best for you is a change of scenery. As your best friend, I'm trying to get you a ticket out, whether you like it or not."

"But, I—" Hope stammered. He tripped over his words and his face contorted in a variety of conflicting emotions. Any idiot could see that Maqui meant well, and all of the responses Hope had forming in his head could do nothing but make him sound like the worst friend ever to hit Gran Pulse.

_That, and a coward. It's not like I won't have to face the facts about my father eventually._

So Hope sighed, shifted his feet and nudged Maqui's jaw with a fake punch.

"Nevermind. When's this _spectacular_ trip taking off, anyway?"

Maqui vaulted over the couch in the blink of an eye, all smiles and toothpick arms that belied their ability to crush victims in a vicelike grip. As one such unsuspecting victim, Hope just patted his friend's back awkwardly.

Laughing, Maqui released him and said, "We head out Wednesday, bright and early. Pack your bags and rest up!"

* * *

Monday morning rolled in as usual, weighing down the lightness of the weekend like the snow that had buried everything overnight – it was stifling.

Hope breathed in the new week and felt his lungs coat with ice. He hurried into the squat training facility just off the grinder, toes already numb inside his boots. The chilled air within somehow managed to be colder than the winter day without – every last puff of warmth had been leached from the stone structure. It would only improve with the arrival of the sun.

That and the arrival of the other squad members. The training facility at five-thirty in the morning was like Hope imagined the inside of a tomb to be: frigid, dark, and empty of all life besides a collection of nigh unkillable insects. Cockroaches were the logical choice, but his imagination made a leap to the skin beetles he'd once read about in a volume on ancient Pulsian burial rites.

_Okay, Estheim. It's way too early to be contemplating death. Or flesh-eating bugs._

He rubbed his gloved hands together and shrugged out of his jacket with a shiver, contemplating coffee instead. It would be another half hour before the squad leader put on a pot in the training facility's cramped front lobby – if it could be called a lobby. More like 'that old desk squished between the door and the hall.' Hope always rushed to the building early, both for the purpose of changing into his gear in an empty locker room and so he could take advantage of the freshly brewed coffee while everyone else changed. Fighting over coffee with twenty cranky squad members before the crack of dawn – only to come away empty-handed – was an experience that ruined his day exactly once. He'd avoided it from then on.

Lacing up his boots over the ends of his pantlegs to blouse them, Hope finished the transformation from his lone civilian self to just another part of the identical training squad. An extra part, really, but he did his best to fit. Nearly two months of the routine and it still felt strange, but he was beginning to appreciate the thick leather of the protective vest and the heavy, rugged fabric blend of the winter uniform. At the very least, it could hold in plenty of heat.

Hope slung his boomerang case onto his back, where it would be easily accessible over his right shoulder for his throwing arm. He tightened the strap snugly and pulled out the weapon, unfolding it. Yes, it was a weapon, now – so far, frame reinforcements, retractable blades and an electrical field had made his Airwing much more than a flashy toy. It was painstakingly balanced, the extra modifications adding weight behind its force.

As he ran his fingers over the scratched and faded yellow surface, though, Hope felt queasy. He didn't particularly like the idea of lashing out at other people with his innocent-looking creation, and he dreaded the jeers and laughs he would get the instant his squad mates saw his choice of weapon. Either way, he desperately needed opportunities to practice using it against tactical targets. Last week they'd used nothing but standard gunblades in gun form with red or blue paint rounds, and he had next to no talent with guns of any kind. The soldiers were expected to incapacitate rather than kill with a shot – even a fake shot – at a human target, which took far greater precision. Most times, he missed altogether in the attempt.

But this week they would be allotted only one round of paint ammunition for the gun, forcing use of the blade form in close combat – something he was much more familiar with. Even better, any choice of melee weapon was technically allowed as long as only one pistol clip of ammunition was used, since the occasional trainee preferred fully differentiated weapons. As an exceptional case, Snow had been through the same training course in the summer using only his fists and the pistol. Hope had a similar but enhanced strategy in mind.

_Well, not as enhanced as it could be, but that's just overkill._

Opening a panel near the upper end of the boomerang, Hope slid a small switch, like the safety on a gun, so that it covered the red square which indicated the electrical field was on standby to activate. He had no intention of using that feature – its voltage and current levels were designed to take down small to medium sized monsters, not humans.

"Wanna tell me what you plan to do with _that _thing?"

Hope snapped the panel closed and whipped his head around, automatically raising his boomerang in front of him as if to deflect a blow. He hadn't heard anyone enter the building's creaky front door, much less the room.

"Whoa, whoa there," his squad leader said, raising his hands in the air defensively. He chuckled and shook his head, clearly more amused than anything. "I'm not attacking you or your… weapon. I'm legit just trying to ask you what that thing does. My job to keep training fair an' reasonably safe, after all."

Sergeant Gau didn't seem to mean any insult by his questioning, so Hope held out the boomerang to his green-haired superior, whose sharp features were trained on it with cautious fascination.

"Deceptive, huh?" he remarked, feeling along the outer edge. "Where's the trick?"

Hope balked at his actions, surprised that he'd caught on so fast. "What makes you so sure there is one, Sergeant?" he asked with a measure of distrust.

For a fraction of a second, an almost feral gleam flashed in the squad leader's eyes. "I've learned the hard way to keep an eye out for these things. It's just like PSICOM to bring a gun to a knife-fight, so I kinda got used to expecting sneaky augmentations on their troops _and_ their weapons."

"I hope you know that none of us would be caught dead following in PSICOM's footsteps," Hope said bitterly. He decided it would be best to explain himself and drive that point home. "This is the only modification I plan to use."

With that, Hope pressed his thumb onto the switch that triggered the bladed mechanism. A row of talon-like, razor sharp blades sprang free along the upper half of the boomerang's outer edge, completing the form that could be used like a menacing, serrated scimitar.

"Now that's more like it," Sergeant Gau said simply, his grin spreading to almost frightening proportion. "Been a while since I've seen a new weapon introduced for melee week. Oughtta be fun to watch. Mostly to see how long you can get by with that trick of yours, civ."

He turned on his heel and strode from the locker room, leaving Hope with a twitch in his left eye and a burning sense of frustration. Thanks to last week's average performance – the combination of his excellent evasion and his poor marksmanship – he was already behind. Now, he was going to have to excel. It was no longer a matter of getting a little practice in with his favored weapon, but a chance to prove that he wasn't just some clueless kid who finagled his way into a military training program because he had connections. Sure, the squad members understood, as had other squads before them, that certain civilian personnel needed the training to enhance mission readiness and ensure everyone's survival. Acknowledging this reality was not the same as accepting such people, not to the battle-hardened soldiers of the Guardian Corps. Even meshing forces with para-military members like NORA had been a challenge at first, much less with a city boy like Hope Estheim, the son of a former Sanctum diplomat.

And Hope could tell the difference in how they perceived him now. It was there in a judgmental glance or the careless comment passed when they thought he was out of earshot. He knew that, to the soldiers he faced every day, dealing with him in combat was far from comparable to having him pilot their transports or work on their weapons. That sort of work made him a resource. A wholly separate entity fulfilling his role in the life they had built and protected. The act of joining them in full military training exercises suggested that he should be an equal, without the terms of enlistment.

Hope still wasn't certain if he could earn that status of equality on his merit alone. The doubts mounted a daily assault on his stomach – he wasn't naturally intimidating, he wasn't terribly skilled, and he wasn't seasoned from battle. Being generally non-confrontational was yet another minus.

It was no wonder Lieutenant Gippal continued to mock his stubborn refusal to sign away his freedom, citing how much it would add to his credibility.

_With all due respect, Sir, no thanks. I'll take the consequences over chaining myself to a service, even as much as I support the Corps. Serah doesn't need another sibling under orders._

_I've got to find a way to do this – my _own_ way._

Hope sheathed the boomerang and stretched, finally noticing his stiff, sore muscles and a few more recent bruises since the numbing cold had begun to wear off. He rubbed his eyes and shook himself; he couldn't afford to go into week two of team scenario combat looking worn down. Caffeine was a top priority, followed closely by a good warm-up.

The earthy, almost bitter scent of strong grounds in boiling water began to waft into the room, and Hope gravitated toward it with a dreamy smile on his face, his earlier tensions temporarily forgotten.

_Oh coffee, where have you been all my life?_

* * *

Dajh shuffled alongside Serah down a snow-packed, seldom used path through the crumbling eastern edge of the base, his head hanging low as he bit down on his quivering lip. On the far end of the leash, firmly grasped in the nine-year-old's hand, strutted Chaz. The formerly palm-sized chocobo had the audacity to grow up, and he already stood taller than Serah, Hope, and both of his owners.

This meant two things for their feathered companion: one, that he needed proper training in order to take a rider; and two, that he would be put to use as the only available breeding stock from Cocoon. Those factors, coupled with the Katzroys' failed attempts to shelter Chaz from the winter weather, had led Sazh to decide to turn the chocobo over to the base's sole ranch until spring.

However, Sazh was flying an extensive supply trip that had been delayed by a blizzard, and they couldn't afford to wait any longer to transfer Chaz to the shelter from his most recent quarters in Serah's basement.

Despite the sheer relief she felt over not having to shovel out chocobo droppings anymore, today was a day Serah had been secretly dreading for weeks. It tore at her heart to see someone hurting, and for once, the circumstances had nothing to do with Hope or her work in the clinic.

They came to a stop outside the low stone wall that encircled the only solid structure in a wide area of ruin. Serah laid a comforting hand on Dajh's drooping shoulder.

"So this is the place," she said cheerfully, but Dajh only nodded in defeat. He sniffled and wiped his nose on his coat sleeve.

"Aw, don't look so down, sweetie." Serah moved to kneel in the snow in front of the sad boy, who had begun to cry in spite of his silent efforts. She held his mittened hand in hers and tried to explain, "It's like we're taking Chaz to school, and after he learns everything he has to learn, he'll come right back home!"

Freeing his hand, Dajh hastily wiped his face. "But what if Chaz doesn't wanna come back? I bet he'll make a bunch of friends, and-and… he'll prob'ly just forget me. They'll spoil him rotten. They got quality greens and lots more space here, y'know."

Serah hesitated, mouth full of empty air. It hit her even harder to listen to such a practical analysis from the crying nine-year-old. For a moment she wondered if he might have a point, but then she remembered the rest of Sazh's deal with the chocobo breeders.

"Listen, Dajh," she said reassuringly, "your Dad made the boss of this ranch promise to let you visit Chaz every Saturday until he's fully trained, so there's no way he can forget you. And he wouldn't anyway! You've been the most important person in his little chocobo life for the last three years, and I know he's grateful for it."

_Feels like I'm talking to myself, in a way,_ she thought, reflecting on the changes in her own household.

The effect of her pep talk was immediate – Dajh visibly brightened and a small smile crept over his cold-nipped face. "I-I guess that makes sense."

Right then, Chaz gave a loud "Kweh!" of complaint and ruffled his feathers against the cold, cutting off the touching moment. Serah laughed and jumped to her feet.

"Oh fine,_ you_," Serah clucked at the chocobo, hands on her hips. "Well, let's get him inside before we all freeze. Ready, Dajh?"

"You got it!" He pumped his fist in the air, and they both laughed at his use of Snow's favored gesture.

As they tracked across the final stretch of icy, boulder-littered ground to the main building beside the stables, Serah joked, "Don't tell me you're gonna grow up to be like Snow, now."

"Nah," Dajh replied. "Snow's crazy strong, but he's sorta goofy. Plus, all that strategy stuff he likes to do sounds boring. If ya ask me, I'd rather be like Hope when I'm older. He gets to fly like Dad _and _mess with all kinds of cool weapons, and when he's sick, he gets lots of time with you." Dusting his snow-coated poof of hair, he added sagely, "That's a pretty sweet deal, even with the being sick part."

"No kidding," Serah muttered. She felt torn between a sense of pride and guilt. It truly amazed her how closely her boys paid attention – the youngest of them, especially – and offered surprising insight. After hearing that honest summary of Dajh's priorities, she resolved to make more time for him.

_Hmph, you're more like Hope than you know._

* * *

Hope was afraid to exhale. Every breath steamed in the air like a cloud, and from his shadowy hiding spot in the corner of a crumbling stone structure, such clouds could be seen from the right angle. His chest ached from the limitation of breathing through his nose. He wanted badly to gasp for breath after the sprint to safety.

_Don't panic. Slowly, slowly…_

Gradually the ache in his chest subsided, and he turned his focus to the remains of a staircase running above his head. All was quiet immediately outside, though he still heard shouts and swearing from a short distance off. It wouldn't take the other team much longer to close in if he didn't make a move, and he was already down by one blue shot-to-the-ass. Three paint shots would mean elimination.

_And I'm out of ammo. Damn._

Pulling at his bright red team jersey, Hope rolled his eyes behind his winter goggles at the conspicuous color. He stood and crept over the dusting of snow on the floor, carefully climbing the stairs. Here and there chunks were missing in the steps, and during one perilous moment he slipped on a patch of ice, clinging for dear life to an exposed metal rod jutting from the wall. After that, he took the last few stairs to the top on his hands and knees.

What had once been the second storey of the building had almost no cover to speak of. Just over a meter of height still remained of the same two walls that had been least affected on the main floor – the corner directly in front of the staircase. It left his back vulnerable, but it would have to do.

Hope peered over the the wall, counting on his silvery hair to blend with the snow piled up on the jagged stone edge. His eyes scanned the ruins of what was the far southeast section of the base – an area so dilapidated that the Corps had made it into a training ground for simulated field combat.

Suddenly, two red blurs popped into view on the right side of what used to be a street. Hope focused there, following his team mates closely until they disappeared – they simply dropped below the visible line of rubble all at once, probably regrouping in the remains of a basement. To his left, a cluster of soldiers in blue jerseys made their way along the opposite side, darting from cover only to hide between a large piece of rusted machinery and the crumbling skeleton of a different building. The field of red and blue participants appeared to have narrowed to less than ten combined, even when Hope considered the possibility of opponents lying in wait like himself. But no one was trying to exchange gunfire anymore. If their ammunition hadn't already been depleted, it was getting there.

That left Hope at a distinct advantage. For him, four targets were in range.

Spying a heavy pile of snow collected on one ledge of the skeletal building's ruined façade, Hope made a few quick calculations. It was almost directly above the blue soldiers in hiding, but he would need to clip the very edge of the building to ensure that his boomerang didn't fall into their midst and get trapped under the miniature avalanche. With a little luck, his plan could work.

Hope took a deep breath, calmed his nerves, and stood. In that moment, as he took aim, he fully exhaled and hurled the Airwing along its curving path. The boomerang struck the building's corner with an echoing crack, sending a cascade of snow and clumps of plaster onto the startled group of blue team members. Hope grinned, watching the soldiers in red leap out and cross the street to claim their targets. He narrowed his eyes, tried to spot his weapon in the snow—

—and was shot in the calf the next instant. He cursed under his breath and pressed back toward the corner to reassess the situation.

_Two out of three. I can't take another hit._

"Gotcha!" the shooter called triumphantly. Hope heard the soldier picking his way up the stairs, apparently out of ammo from the tell-tale sound of gunblade gears shifting into blade form. Rather than outright surrender, Hope clambered over the broken wall and dropped two stories into a pile of powder, grunting at the soreness that flared in his bruised calf from the crouched landing.

He scrambled to regain footing and sprinted full speed for the place where he estimated his boomerang had fallen.

_Close, so close… there!_

Covering the remaining distance, Hope snatched his Airwing from where it had upended itself in the snow. His team members had easily captured the half-buried group nearby, and they were giving each other high-fives and even waving him over to join them.

Hope waved back, warmed all over by their approval. He had just knocked the icy clumps from his boomerang, a smile spreading over his face, when he heard a new sound. First, it was like the crunch of a large stone splitting ice, but then it multiplied a hundredfold. Hope spun to face the source. A cloud of dust and snow rose from the building he'd just escaped, where he'd lost his pursuer.

"Holy…" Hope breathed, all traces of happiness gone. He took off at a pace spurred on by acute fear, reaching the site and rounding what was left of the building in less than a minute. Inside, he could barely see enough to tell that most of the upper floor had collapsed. He charged into the rubble and began to search.

"Hey! Where are you? Can you hear me?" he called. Another chunk of the crumbling staircase collapsed, stirring up the chalky air anew. Hope gasped instinctively and choked when the thick powder coated his tongue. He used his free hand to raise the collar of his undershirt over his mouth and nose to breathe, still pressing into the dust cloud. Someone else's cough finally gave him direction, so he stumbled through the debris toward the sound.

Four steps more and he thought he saw the sheen of light on a metal edge.

_Okay, he's gotta be there. I think that's his gunblade…_

Then, in a flash, he saw the full blade – as it came swinging at his left arm.

Hope cried out in surprise and pain, feeling the metal edge slice through his sleeve to tear viciously into skin and muscle with a fleshy, ripping sound. He whipped his boomerang up to defend a second blow, but the blade clattered to the ground instead.

"Stop – please, just listen!" Hope choked out hoarsely, trying to ignore the dark blood soaking his upper arm as he sheathed the boomerang. "The fight's over! We've gotta get out of here now!" Barely a moment later he heard a series of harsh coughs, the blue-clad team member stumbling forward and crumpling to his knees in the debris in front of Hope. Up close, he was finally recognisable. PFC Beclem cradled his ankle, hissing through his teeth at the pain before coughing again. It was all Hope could do to heft the heavier man to his feet under the support of his right shoulder. They struggled blindly over the uneven ground as quickly as possible, not stopping until they had emerged in the glittering snow beyond the shadow of the building.

It seemed that all other sounds ceased when the structure finally broke down. An ear-splitting snap tore through the air, and the brittle plaster and metal shell caved in on itself in seconds, leaving nothing but a mushrooming dust cloud to be seen.

Hope heaved a sigh of relief, but his strength eeked out along with his breath. He shielded his eyes from the glaring sun. Too dizzy to keep moving, he steadied his hold on the wheezing soldier beside him and maintained just enough awareness to hear the crunching approach of boots. He looked up to see the faces of concerned squad members – a mix of red and blue jerseys all around.

_They were watching?_

Hands lifted the soldier from his shoulder and he flinched when one of his younger team mates – an apprentice medic they teasingly referred to as Patch – started hastily wrapping a gauze bandage over the gash on his left arm.

"We'll get you fixed up," he promised. "This is just for the trip to the clinic – you're gonna need stitches for sure, and I kinda suck at those."

_They're worried about me…_

Someone passed him a canteen. Hope was beginning to feel overwhelmed.

"I… thanks."

* * *

Sergeant Gau apparently hadn't thought the incident – amounting to a rolled ankle and a nasty cut – warranted a call to the medical response team, so he'd simply called around for an available velocycle. Once the freezing, paint-spattered team reached the edge of the training field, the vehicle sat idling there.

Its rider waited impatiently, flaming red hair unmistakable. In the past, Corporal Lucil had mentioned to Hope how much she liked the excuse to run errands on her superior's personal vehicle, and the soon-to-be-major Nooj preferred to let her – he was in meetings or doing paperwork almost constantly anyway. But this time, Hope couldn't read Lucil's posture and expression as anything but agitated. Even through his disorientation, he noticed her tightly crossed arms and the slight downturn of her lips. He watched her boot tap time between every frustrated breath she blew into the air.

That struck him as odd, but when he tried to focus on it he couldn't hold the thought. Instead, he waved his good hand from over the shoulder of the team mate supporting him. Lucil trained her eyes on the group and met his, going wide-eyed for a moment. Then she shook her head, blinked rapidly at the snowy ground, and looked back up at the roughly bandaged wound on his arm.

"Hope, what the hell have you done?" Lucil grumbled, pinching the bridge of her nose. The soldiers around him snickered, and despite the corporal's tone, he knew she spoke with more concern than anger.

_She used my first name. Safe!_

Hope tried to just shrug in response, but for once that was a bad idea. He winced, cursing under his breath as he bled into the bandage anew.

Lucil turned sharply and mounted the velocycle, waiting for Patch to help Hope onto the seat while Sergeant Gau explained in obvious amusement, "Heh, one o' the guys got himself into a hazardous situation in the training scenario. Estheim got him out. At a price, I'm afraid, but I doubt this one'll panic like that again." He laughed and jerked his thumb at Beclem, the downcast soldier who was also being helped to walk. He had snow-filled bundles packed on his ankle and a guilty look on his face.

The corporal only spared a moment to shoot him a glare, and his eyes leaked fear.

"Try to keep yourself out of trouble, Private," she warned. She revved the engine and took off before he could even attempt a reply. Hope held on in a daze as they drove, clinging to her extra warmth that his drained body couldn't seem to provide since the adrenaline had worn off. His arm complained but he ignored it. He just didn't feel up to processing the crazy mix of pride, fear, pain, and relief.

_We're all safe, right now. I shouldn't overthink it._

* * *

For one of the few times in her life, Serah was bored. She'd been on shift since six-thirty with nothing more to do than monitor half a dozen charts, and she dismissed her intern for the day as there was absolutely nothing new to train her on. Serah told herself again that this was a good thing. A wonderful sign.

Only it wasn't, exactly. The lull in clinic activity was more of a sign that supplies were dwindling. Even though winter was generally a slow season for virus cases, Serah should have at least been working with materials in the lab. But progress was at a standstill. Some of her medical books mentioned chemicals that had never graced the shelves of their facility, and it was looking more and more like those faraway substances might hold the key to a better treatment. The only other option she could think of was further exploration of Pulsian plantlife, and that was also inaccessible for the season, buried under ice and snow.

No, the best they could do was wait for Sazh to return from his supply trip. Some of Ann's former staff in the Settlement's clinic had been smuggling materials from quarantine along the established Guardian Corps supply chain, and those were due in the coming shipment. The stash of anesthetics alone would be a god-send.

Serah sighed, stuffing another file back into its space in the drawer and pushing it shut. She pressed her forehead to the cold metal file cabinet.

_Why that stupid blizzard? Why the delays and the shortage and the chocobo—?_

The slam of the front door caught her attention. She hurried out of the back office and into the waiting area, eyes nearly popping free of their sockets when she took in the sight. There was Lucil, half-dragging a pale, bloody and bandaged Hope.

"Oh no… oh… Maker… What did you—?" she stammered, nearly tripping over a chair as she charged straight for Hope. She felt herself switch into emergency mode and led them quickly into the nearest examination room. Lucil helped Hope onto the end of the smooth table as Serah snapped on a pair of gloves.

"It's not bad," Hope tried to assure her, managing a watery smile.

The corporal added more helpfully, "He just needs a few stitches."

"A _few_?" Serah asked with a bit of an edge. Her hands flew to the messy bandage. She gingerly pried its edges loose to cut it off, noting the amount of stiffened blood in the gauze and his sleeve, before quickly unbuckling the shoulder guard and helping him out of the protective vest. The blouse and two undershirts followed with no small amount of struggle. Some of the fibers had stuck themselves to the still-oozing laceration, though none were actually fused. Hope's eyes watered and he clenched his teeth, hissing at the pull against the edges of raw flesh when he stripped the final layer.

"It's alright, that part's done," Serah said soothingly as she pressed a new patch of thick gauze against the wound. "Hold this for me, okay? You're lucky it didn't have time to freeze together."

Serah gently pressed Hope onto his back, shaking her head at the fading bruises on his ribs, and turned his face away from her. He didn't look terribly steady sitting up, and she knew he would panic if he saw the needle. Even without looking it was still a possibility. His breathing was already picking up in anticipation.

_He needs a distraction._

As she threaded the needle, Serah shot Lucil a pleading look, glancing from Hope back to her face and silently mouthing, "Talk to him," to reinforce it.

The corporal seemed understandably hesitant for a moment, but she quickly nodded acceptance of her new mission and went to lean against the wall Hope was facing.

"Hey, Lucil," Hope said nervously at her approach, obviously trying to ignore what was going on with his left arm. "Thanks for picking me up. I'm sorry we interrupted your, uh… what was it, anyway?"

Sighing, Lucil tucked several loose strands of hair behind her ear and played with a buckle on her jacket. "I was waiting for my turn to board. A good number of us are going up for Sergeant this year. You don't just 'get' advanced to that rank, you know."

"Really? That's awesome!" Hope exclaimed. He was beginning to engage in the conversation, so Serah removed the gauze, wiped off most of the blood and disinfected the site. She felt him flinch at the stinging sensation, but he was more interested in chatting.

He asked suddenly, "So did you have some kind of exam, too? Like a performance test? Or is it just evaluation by a board of superiors?"

"Slow down," Lucil corrected, but then she chuckled. "It's performance, peer evaluation, and board. I've passed two out of three so far."

Leaning in toward Hope's ear, Serah said calmly, "I'm starting now, okay?"

Hope only nodded, clearly not wishing to dwell on it, and continued to talk anxiously.

"That's great, Lucil. Congra—aah!" The stab of the first needle stitch jarred Hope from his distraction, and he instinctively started to whip his head around and take on the source of pain. Thankfully, Lucil arrested his face with both hands before he could turn it. She met his gaze intently and held him still until he stopped struggling, then let go to catch his right hand that gravitated toward the wound.

"Focus," she instructed. He nodded and tried, but both of the women could tell he was beginning to hyperventilate, his sharp breaths coming faster with the shudders of his ribcage. His forehead was beading with sweat. "Listen to me, Hope. You panic, you bleed more, you pass out, and Serah does this whole thing anyway. Try and imagine she's just pinching you really hard."

"She would never do that, she—aah! Ngh, I _hate_ gunblades right now," he groaned, apparently gearing up to override his uneasiness about the coming 'pinches' by talking through them. "_You_ never hurt me like this with a blade."

"That's because I know what I'm doing," Lucil scoffed. "The guy who attacked you was panicked, and that never brings anything but trouble." She paused in contemplation, smoothing back the bangs stuck to his forehead. Then she muttered as an afterthought, "Sorry you got rewarded with pain. That's life, sometimes."

Serah continued to steadily work in the row of sutures over the gash, but she picked up the extra layer of meaning in Lucil's words and actions. Even though the soldier dutifully attended to Hope, Serah could sense the struggle within her. Lucil was _not_ the touchy-feely type, and Serah knew better than to blame the settling rosiness in her cheeks on the weather outside.

_I wish you could've been spared _this _kind of_ _pain, Lucil._

Of course, Serah couldn't exactly speak her mind. She was busy stitching up the oblivious instigator himself. She loved him to pieces, after all.

"At least… it was worth it," Hope commented at length, breaking through Serah's meditations as he forced himself to take a deep, cleansing breath. "That building would've buried Beclem. And even though the whole mess was just an accident, I think something changed because of it. I mean, I felt like such a useless part of the team before today – not really… accepted. But now—" Another stitch, and Hope squeezed his eyes shut and tightened his grip on Lucil's hand.

"You… are…" The corporal cleared her throat, flashing a helpless look at Serah before focusing back on Hope. "You're… right, actually," she managed. "I've had to prove my merit plenty of times to gain respect. You should be more careful, though. The one mistake you made is the same mistake you've been making for years: you tried to handle it alone. In the future, you should announce a situation like that and take at least one other team mate along, got it?"

Hope blinked at her, seeming baffled by the intensity and accuracy of her defense for his actions. "I-I can definitely do that. I kinda thought you were going to criticize me for being reckless, but… Hmph, shows what I know. You'll make an amazing sergeant." He merely winced at the last stitch. It couldn't quite shake his grateful smile.

"All done!" Serah announced. She fought the urge to brandish the needle in triumph, instead placing it gingerly in a tray for sterilization. "Let's patch you up nice and neat this time."

While Serah was smearing on antibiotic, Lucil slipped her hand free of Hope's and tentatively ruffled his hair. Ever observant, Serah measured the sadness of the soldier's smile, the way she bit her lip, and the persistent flush to her face – quite sure that Hope would miss those things. His focus was somewhere else. He would take her actions as nothing more than friendly concern, like always.

Lucil's eyes wandered to the clock on the wall. "Gotta go. It's probably my turn by now." And with a curt nod at Serah, she hurried from the room.

"Good luck!" Hope called after her, but the door had already shut.

_He has absolutely no idea, does he? Maybe innocence isn't really all that… well, innocent. Just a sign that experience is lacking._

_And you've got a lot to learn, little brother._

Lost in her thoughts and the last of her bandaging routine, Serah barely caught the sound of the clinic door again as she helped Hope to sit up. Suddenly, a wild-eyed Maqui burst into the room.

"Hope!" he exclaimed breathlessly. "Why haven't you been answering your communicator? I had to call your squad leader to even find you!"

Serah glared in mild annoyance and pointed to the bandage on Hope's arm, but it still took Maqui a few seconds to really accept the sight. He smacked his forehead and groaned.

"Look, I'm sorry about… whatever it was, but we have a serious emergency on our hands!"

Hope perked up. "What happened? What did you need me for?"

"To fly," Maqui explained, his voice abruptly quiet with fear. "It's Sazh – we just got word that he's gone and crash-landed after engine failure. I-I mean, the whole crew's fine, but obviously they can't just sit out there in the freezing cold with a busted engine. Gippal's getting a team together to head out early this afternoon. We need a pilot."

Baffled and frustrated, Serah threw up her hands and waved at Hope's arm once again. "But he's just been stitched up! Can't someone else fly this trip?"

Maqui sighed, rubbing at his neck anxiously. "There isn't anyone else. Our backup pilot mostly runs the smaller transport, and this is going to be a tricky flight with the weather conditions. We have to take BARTHOLOMEW, and Hope's the most comfortable flying it."

"Serah," Hope said softly, turning to meet her fearful gaze, "I can handle this. It's for Sazh, and it's-it's just flying anyway. Nothing should happen to the stitches."

Serah opened her mouth to interject, finding no words. She felt her eyebrows creasing with worry and wanted to cry about the whole situation, but she quickly shut out that urge in the face of Hope's reassuring half-smile.

He placed a light hand on her cheek and said, "Give me some non-drowsy painkillers and I'm good to go. We can't let any more family go missing on us, now can we?"

Nodding mutely, Serah produced the requested painkillers from a nearby cabinet and got him a glass of water. Her chest felt so tightly locked down that she couldn't speak for fear of shattering her resolve. Anything seemed better than sending Hope away as he was, but it was unavoidable.

_Sazh… we can't lose you. I only wish I could do something._

* * *

"Snow, for the _thousandth_ time, I said go away!" Hope climbed to the top of the rungs running up the transport – wary of his bandaged arm – and crawled across to inspect the other wing. He shouted down impatiently, "I'm prepping for a recovery and repair mission! It's completely non-strategic, and we've already got a team assigned, so bug off."

_Your place is here with Serah, self-proclaimed Hero. She needs you, so do your job already!_

"Who cares about assignments?" Snow fired back, eyebrows disappearing into his bandanna to complement his cocky grin. "Up until this morning you and Maqui were supposed to be flyin' off to some survey mission, but guess what? When Sazh crash-lands in a canyon, priorities get scrambled. Schedules change."

"Yeah, and guess who still isn't on the schedule?" Hope snapped. "You!"

A few quick glances showed him that nothing was amiss with the wing, so Hope climbed down, distributing most of the weight between his boots and right arm as he crossed the rungs. He dropped to the ground, still bristling over a variety of annoyances. The bandage on his left arm began to itch again. He scratched at its edges through his coveralls and stalked toward the transport's cargo bay. His wound had only gotten a couple of hours to heal so far; it was improving with the painkillers, but the itch was almost worse than the pain.

Snow had found the bag of tools Hope set aside on the top of the cargo ramp, and the giant man was digging his oversized hands through the assortment. He pulled out a pair of wire-cutters that looked more like tweezers in his grip.

Observing this, Hope sighed in aggravation, "Why are you messing with my stuff?"

"Huh?" Snow made a face like he'd been taken aback by the accusation. He squeezed the wire-cutters, snipping at imaginary wires in the air. "I'm just checking your equipment. What if you went and forgot something?"

"You're right, Snow," Hope said, deadpan. "I definitely forgot something – you know, I think it's back at Serah's place. Would you be kind enough to get it for me? It's no rush. In fact, take a lunch break while you're at it."

Snow stared at him for half a second before he doubled over, his booming laughter echoing in the transport. "Geez, Hope! No need to lay it on so thick!"

But Hope was through playing around. He stomped up the ramp and snatched the wire-cutters from Snow's hand, stuffing them into the tool bag and scooping it up. "Just _go_. I've got exactly one hour to run final checks on this clunker before the team gets here. If you've got a problem with assignment, take it to Gippal."

Snow was unmoved. "You really think I'd be hangin' around here to torment you if I hadn't already talked to the mission manager?"

That statement froze Hope in his tracks. He turned slowly and leveled a glare at the much taller man.

"You're kidding, right?" Hope said tonelessly. "You've already weaseled your way into the mission, and you neglected to mention it? You do realise Sazh is out there _in a blizzard_ while you're wasting my time with this crap." Hope felt his face burning, but he couldn't think of an appropriate way to channel his frustration. He continued on his previous trajectory and charged toward the cockpit.

Following behind him, Snow started to explain, "That'e exactly my point! We're talkin' about Papa Sazh, here! I can't just shy away from a chance to rescue the old man." He outpaced Hope and grabbed his bad arm by mistake.

Hope cried out, whipping around defensively. "Watch what you're doing! And I'm not just talking about _this_." His hands gestured at lump of the bandage beneath his coveralls' sleeve, then at the whole transport with an air of desperation. "_Think_, Snow. You really wanna risk your life out there right now? We don't need _you _to go. That's what the team is for! I mean, what if you come along and we all die in a freak accident? Who's gonna be here for Serah and Dajh then, huh? And who would lead the charge to get Lightning back?"

"I'm not gonna let us die out there," Snow stated with firm conviction.

Hope gripped his scalp with both hands. "You can't _know_ that. No amount of luck and muscle and skill can guarantee anything."

"Well then, I wonder why everyone's going to all this trouble to help Sazh, seein' as it's all so hopeless."

"What?" Hope exclaimed incredulously, his green eyes wide as saucers. "I never said that! Quit putting words in my mouth."

Drawing himself to his full height, Snow projected some serious authority. His eyes drilled down at Hope like cold steel and stopped his mouth from uttering another sound.

"Take your own advice, Hope. You just assume that I haven't considered Serah's position here or calculated the risks of this mission. Well, guess what? I have," he stated plainly, shaking his head at the blatant surprise on Hope's face. His eyes narrowed and his voice gained power as he pressed, "Did it even occur to you that Serah might've _asked_ me to go, since she can't help Sazh herself, and she's worried you're gonna overdo it and tear your stitches? Or that Dajh wants me to bring his daddy home? It's not like saying 'no' was an option."

It took Hope a full five seconds to recover his jaw and his ability to speak. When he did, he only mumbled quietly, "You could've just said so from the start."

"Aw, but Serah said I need to practice being subtle," Snow teased, abruptly back to his usual self. He ruffled Hope's hair into an omnidirectional cowlick and tacked on, "Whatever that means." It was almost creepy how quickly Snow could shift moods – like he hovered, carefree, just above the surface of reality, swooping down at intervals to attack a problem before floating right back up to his happy cloud.

Hope sighed in defeat. "Snow, I don't get your brand of subtle."

_And I don't get you, period. Don't think I ever will._

* * *

The distress signal flashing on Hope's console plotted Sazh's transport at a point halfway between Charlie Station and the base. Hope's mind went back to his last trip through the canyon along that route, recalling the trickier sections. It hadn't been the easiest place to navigate in clear conditions, much less in a blizzard, and Hope had a suspicion that the aircraft might be nestled in the crook of a certain sharp turn toward the northernmost end.

_Where that brush jammed my aileron. I hope he didn't hit the ledge._

Thanks to Maqui's newly installed long-distance relay boxes, Sazh's mayday and follow-up call had made it back to base via the canyon's south end waypoint tower – which had once been a dilapidated windmill. Sazh had calmly explained over the staticky airwaves that they'd only taken off once the blizzard moved west from Charlie Station, but that they encountered a second snowstorm en route through the canyon, following a shift in the winds that had caused the first blizzard. He'd been forced to make an emergency landing after the engine stalled.

Hope blinked at the glaring whiteness above his own dash. The worst of the storm had long since passed, but it was all clouds or snow in every direction. Such conditions had him on alert. Weather patterns on Pulse were a far cry from the predictable conditions on Cocoon, and the pilots knew that better than anyone, now. His left hand drifted toward the transport's radio, but he let it drop – at the speed they were travelling and in the snowy atmosphere, there was next to no chance that a call would reach Sazh before the signal degraded to nothing. They were getting close, anyway.

"Hey, Maqui," he said to the dozing co-pilot, giving him a light punch to the shoulder. "Could you man the sights, please?"

_Can't blame him for the nap. It's been like staring at a blank piece of paper for two hours straight._

The mechanic shuddered and woke with a start, taking in his surroundings until he faced Hope, who just blinked at him expectantly. "Hrm— wha's up?" Maqui yawned.

"The sights," Hope reiterated, tapping the dash. He went back to the controls and began to lower the aircraft's speed and altitude. "We're almost there."

"O-oh! I'm on it!" Maqui stretched briefly and reached out to pull the device from its nook in the co-pilot's side of the dash. He glued his face to the eyepiece and his fingers to the buttons on either side, panning his view slowly across the full one-hundred eighty degree range of motion, back and forth over the canyon floor just ahead of them.

He was so quiet during the entire process, Hope was beginning to wonder if his friend had somehow fallen asleep at the task, but shortly after the thought crossed his mind Maqui spoke up.

"Wait a sec," he muttered to himself, quickly tapping a different button to zoom. "Is there a—I dunno, a _chocobo_ painted on the side of Sazh's ship, now?"

"That's it!" Hope exclaimed, his grip tightening around the steering column. "Can you give me a rough bearing and range?"

"Two-ninety on the display, at twenty-five hundred meters," Maqui said in a blank voice, still in strict concentration mode. His right index finger began rapidly tapping the zoom.

"What the hell is _that_?"

"What's_ what_?" Hope asked, alarmed but unwilling to compromise his focus on steering as they began their descent. "Describe it, Maq – you're my eyes on the target!"

Maqui grumbled to himself as he puzzled over the spectacle he was seeing.

"It looks like a swarm of black specks, hopping around the transport— No, wait." He clicked the zoom further. "Not black, they're _purple_, and they're flapping little wings…" Suddenly, Maqui howled with laughter. He fell back in his seat, cracking up for several seconds before he could speak.

"Holy Etro, Hope!" he cried. "It's a flock of purple chocobos!"

_You've got to be kidding me._

Unable to process the information beyond sheer relief that it wasn't monsters, Hope just shook his head and picked out a relatively smooth spot in the center of the canyon, less than a hundred meters from Sazh's ship, to touch down. He steered the transport through its approach and hovered there, the landing thrusters kicking up a blinding cloud of snow until Hope disengaged them. He felt only a slight rattling sensation upon contact with the rocky ground.

From the back of the cabin, he heard Snow shout, "Sweet touchdown, little bro!" The soldiers on the team laughed and a few clapped. Hope rolled his eyes at Snow's antics, feeling proud nonetheless.

"Thanks, guys!" he called back. He could hear the crew unstrapping and moving around to ready their gear, but everyone knew it would be half an hour or more before they were cleared to head out. As Snow had taken the position of squad leader for the trip, he would be coordinating the soldiers and waiting for the cue.

It took a couple of minutes for the snow flurries to settle so Hope could assess their position. He peered through the cockpit's observation glass and fixed his eyes on the bright yellow chocobo that marked Sazh's transport. Sure enough, the aircraft was swarming with purple versions of the giant bird. Hope wondered if the symbol itself had attracted them to what appeared to be their mothership.

The hilarity of such an idea made him spew out an unexpected laugh. He quickly wiped his mouth, shaking himself to recover.

"Uhh… Hope?" Maqui asked, one eyebrow perched curiously. "You okay?"

Hope took a couple of deep breaths. "Yeah, I'm good. Time to radio Sazh." He picked up the handheld transceiver wired to the dash and turned the channel dial from _TOWER_ to _ACFT 2, _then he pressed the PTT button.

"NAUTILUS, this is BARTHOLOMEW. Come in please."

A burst of static signaled activity on the channel, and a moment later Sazh's voice came through, sounding a tad anxious but full of relief.

"This is NAUTILUS, go ahead!"

"We're fifty meters off your port side," Hope informed him. "What's your status?"

Sazh replied, "The main engine's offline. I can tell you exactly when it shut down, altitude and conditions an' all – just can't fix it."

Hope and Maqui exchanged a knowing look. It was just as they both expected. Sazh was a veritable aircraft whisperer, but no serious mechanic. He knew all the quirks of his transport and had probably tried every old-school trick he could think of to restart the engine, to no avail.

"Understood. Oh, and we're seeing about three or—" Hope cut off for a moment, choking back a laugh when he saw Maqui sniggering, "Maybe four dozen purple chocobos surrounding your ship. Do you know if they're, uh… hostile?"

After the word 'hostile,' both boys were in terrible discomfort over how absurd it all sounded. They rocked in their seats, smothering their mouths during Sazh's perfectly composed explanation.

"They've been clawin' at the hull for the last few hours, and at least one of 'em got up top," Sazh relayed. "Ornery thing might o' pecked its way into the wiring there, 'cause the cabin lights went out about an hour ago. Guess I'd call that hostile. Other than that, though, one brave soldier opened the emergency hatch to take a look, and he says they're nestin' chicks under the belly. I'm thinkin' we caught the flock in migration, so the females are on the defensive and the males are all riled up."

He had come to the end of his spiel. Maqui was in such hysterics that he slid to the floor of the cockpit and curled up there, issuing strangled sounds as he clung futilely to self-control. Hope was not much better off – he laughed so hard he soon came down with a bad case of hiccups. His arm ached and his left hand spasmed on the transceiver.

"Hey, Hope – you copy all that?" Sazh queried. After Hope pressed the button to reply, only to make a combined gasp-hiccup-snort sound instead, the older pilot added, "What on Pulse are you laughin' at?"

_Well great, now I _have_ to explain myself._

"I—I—oh god, you're under siege by – _hic_ – purple chocobos!" Hope couldn't hold it in any longer. He laughed and hiccupped so loudly that Snow's unmistakable boots were soon pounding toward the cockpit.

The giant man poked his head through the entryway, looking on in confusion. "What the hell is _wrong_ with you guys?"

Hope clutched his side with his good arm, still shaking from laughter and hiccups, and waved the transceiver toward the observation glass.

As Snow peered outside, his mouth gaped and he slowly tilted his head, completely baffled at the sight.

"Is that… what I think it is?"

Nodding his silver head emphatically, Hope just passed the transceiver to Snow so he could calm down. He immediately wiped the tears from his eyes.

"BARTHOLOMEW, come in please!" Sazh called over the radio irritably.

Snow pressed the PTT button. "Hey there, Sazh. Snow here. You got any greens on board?"

* * *

The stored goods and medical supply crates on BARTHOLOMEW and NAUTILUS were, not surprisingly, devoid of greens. Not a single Gysahl leaf turned up after both crews completed a vigorous search.

"We're just gonna have to bust through, Sazh," Snow explained over the radio. "We'll try to scare 'em off, but that might not pan out. I apologise in advance for any collateral damage."

Sazh fired back, "Are you dead certain on that? 'Cause these chocobos are a rare breed. That an' I'd rather not let my son down by killin' innocent birds."

Wracking his brain, Hope traced the grooves in the steering column and analyzed the short list of flawed strategies that came to mind, shooting them down one by one. Snow's brow was creased in thought, likely of the same nature.

"Hey, guys," Maqui said tentatively. "I've got an idea." He pulled a strange device from his rucksack that looked like the spawn of a tuning fork and a small radio.

"Is that a—?" Hope began, but he couldn't even make a rough guess.

Maqui smirked, his eyes full of mischief. "A prototype? Glad you asked, but I've just been calling it the 'Siren.' It's _designed_ for use with monsters, but since I was lacking good audio samples I started working on an extra feature that might just help us here. Let me take a shot at those chocobos."

Lacking any other non-violent alternatives, Snow decided to give him a chance. Maqui messed around with a tuning knob on the Siren for a few minutes until he was satisfied, and then he headed out the main cabin hatch to climb on top of the transport.

Hope and Snow were left to continue monitoring the distant flock of chocobos for signs of change – particularly if they became alerted to the presence of their transport. A minute into the task, Hope felt a distinct pressure in his ears. He watched in awe as every head of every chocobo at fifty meter range turned to face BARTHOLOMEW.

_That's…_ _really frickin' creepy._

Then, just as abruptly, Hope felt the pressure in his ears cease and saw the chocobos return to normal. He sat in a daze, wondering what force of nature was being harnessed by the hands of his friend _this_ time, when Maqui barged back into the cockpit.

"Found the pitch!" he announced, bouncing on his feet in excitement.

* * *

Only after _Operation Chocobo Lure_ was wrapped up would Hope get a full explanation about the Siren, but at least Maqui's plan was a proven success. Once the crew of BARTHOLOMEW reached NAUTILUS, Snow had captured the flock's attention with Maqui's preset device, carrying it like a torch. Utilizing every last soldier in a combined team from both ships, they had herded the docile chocobos away from NAUTILUS and into a shallow, wide space hewn out of the nearby canyon wall. Sazh had even taken the opportunity to stow away one female chocobo in the cargo bay to take back to the ranch.

Sadly, all the fun updates could only be delivered secondhand to the mechanics toiling in the underbelly of the transport. The frigid temperature outside meant they had little time to fix the engine before the soldiers would be too cold to stand guard over the chocobos, even on rotating shifts. That in mind, Hope and Maqui feverishly inspected the engine access area of the mechanical space – wiring, fuel lines, intake and all – but were unable to get clear results.

Hope finally spotted the frozen condensation encrusted around the compressor, betraying the source of their troubles. Thankfully, the amount of ice crystals sucked though the intake hadn't been sufficient to affect the secondary engines powering the landing thrusters. Sazh was most likely correct that flameout had caused the failure, but it was Maqui who concluded that the metal combustion chamber and connecting regions of the primary engine were too iced over – inside and out – to simply restart. They needed a warm-up.

"Got any _more_ bright ideas?" Hope asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Maqui pressed his gloved hands against the icy surface of the compressor. "Actually yeah… but you're probably gonna laugh."

"At this point, I'd say a crazy solution is just what we need." Hope rubbed his hands together and blew into them, shuddering as the chill seeped through his many layers of clothing. If it was this freezing in the depths of the transport, he could only imagine how the soldiers out in the wind and snow were feeling.

"First, I've gotta check something," Maqui said distractedly, and the next thing Hope knew, his friend had darted away and climbed the rungs to leave the space. He could sense that Maqui was up to something odd, but he slung his boomerang case onto his back and followed out of morbid curiosity.

Once Hope poked his head out through the floor panel, he looked around the cabin for Maqui. He found him quickly enough. The blonde mechanic was in the cargo bay, hugging Sazh's selected chocobo with a stupid grin on his face. Hope flailed and almost fell back down the hole.

"You—wha—Maqui, what are you _doing_!" he stammered incredulously.

Maqui simply released his grip on the chocobo, patted her head, and shuffled back to the space. He helped Hope to his feet, reaching around to tug the hood over Hope's wild hair as he casually remarked, "Hey, she's warm. Really _really_ warm. Like, toasty."

"So…?" Hope trailed off. He held his increasingly more enigmatic friend at arm's length.

"So," Maqui replied definitively, "we need to get to that flock. I'm thinkin' eight, maybe ten chocobos could work…"

He began counting on his fingers as he wandered to the main hatch, and then he snapped on his goggles. Turning, he waved Hope over. "C'mon, dude! We're working on a timeclock!"

Unable to come up with a valid reason for protest, Hope just jogged across the cabin. They stepped out into the bitterly cold air and climbed down the extended ladder, their boots sinking several inches into the powder once they hit the ground.

"You'd better know what you're doing," Hope muttered.

"Always do!" Maqui grabbed him by the arm and plowed onward toward the flock of chocobos and soldiers huddling against the canyon wall, just a stone's throw away.

Sheltered from the wind and subdued by the Siren, the flock was utterly calm. They had settled down in nesting groups, and many were napping or pruning feathers, totally oblivious to the soldiers who had chanced to hunker down with them for warmth. Some of the men had even dozed off.

_You know, I'm a little jealous._

Shivering, Hope absently stroked a couple of purple-feathered heads while Maqui delievered his request to Snow.

"So what you're tellin' me," Snow said tiredly, "now that we've gotten our feathered friends all comfy, is that you wanna borrow them back? I mean sure, they were easy enough to move along, but it took us over an hour to get 'em all in one place."

Maqui shrugged. "I don't need all of them," he explained, counting on his fingers in thought again as his eyes looked up at nothing in particular. "Just eight or so should do it. And as long as you stay put, this bunch won't move away from the Siren to follow the others. I'll also need a few soldiers to help me, but that's it."

"Can I at least ask what you're _doing_ with a bunch of chocobos?" Snow crossed his arms and eyed both mechanics skeptically. Hope had the fleeting thought that being covered in his namesake helped Snow with his intimidation factor. He could've passed for a young yeti.

But even faced with that, Maqui grinned with delight.

"I need them to nest in the engine room."

Snow's dumbfounded expression was priceless.

* * *

Hope snuggled closer to his chocobo – one of three lining the right side of the primary engine combustion chamber. All told, there were nine chocobos in the cramped space, carefully arranged around the engine assembly to radiate a wall of heat.

"Hey, Maq?"

"Ngh… wha…?" Maqui slurred, twisting around to nestle the other side of his face deep in the purple plumage he was napping against. That particular chocobo snorted, but otherwise remained asleep.

Hope yawned and elaborated, "You wanna tell me how this Siren thingy works, now?"

From his curled up position with the adjacent bird, Maqui grumbled, "Hell no. My brain's shot, and we've got maybe another hour to kill before the engines thaw. Just go to sleep. You don't need a bedtime story about my latest invention."

"C'mon, I'm bored," Hope pleaded, scooting over to repeatedly poke Maqui's shoulder. "Humor me? Since you care so much about your best friend and all…"

Maqui cracked one eye open and glared. "Hope, I don't give a flying fal'Cie that you're _bored_."

"Aw, guess I'll just have to entertain myself," Hope sighed in mock defeat. Then he yanked the goggles from his sleepy friend's head and rolled away, laughing.

"Hey! Give those back!" Maqui swiped at the goggles held just out of reach but quickly gave up when Hope secured them around his own neck.

Hope stretched out against his chocobo, folding one arm behind his head as he fiddled with the strap on the goggles with his free hand. "Gladly," he said, and he pulled them off to dangle them in the space between them. He hesitated just long enough for Maqui to stick his hand out to try and snatch his possession. Then Hope smirked evilly and jerked the goggles out of reach again.

"_If_ you tell me about the Siren."

"Hope…" Maqui whined, pressing the heel of his hand between his eyes. "Could ya quit being such a brat?"

"Not likely, but…" Hope bit his lip, his eyes flitting sideways at the ground and then back up with renewed determination. "_Please_ tell me?"

The stare-down didn't last for long. Finally burying his face in his hands, Maqui released a heavy, exasperated breath through his nose. Then he extended his upturned palm.

"Fine. Just give me the goggles and I'll _humor_ you."

"Knew you'd come around," Hope said with a sly grin. He bowed his head in deference as he gently placed the goggles in Maqui's hand.

"Whatever," Maqui muttered, rolling his eyes. "I'm covering this quick, so listen up."

Once he had reaffixed the goggles to his head, he patted the chocobo beside him and focused on its plumage in thought. "It all started with Dajh. See, I made the Siren with monsters in mind, like I said before, but it's not like I've been able to get good audio samples to test its capabilities on them in the field. The closest I've been able to come is working with Chaz's calls. I got a decent recording a couple months ago – I was helping Dajh move the chocobo into the basement in Sazh's house, and all the sudden, Chaz got really upset. Started kweh-in' like mad! And Dajh, being the awesome kid he is, did this whistle trick that calmed him right down. Lucky I had a recorder in my pocket at the time to catch the chocobo sounds – I picked up the whistling as a bonus. Anyway, I took the audio back to Baralai's new hub to analyze the signal properties."

"And?" Hope prompted.

Maqui continued, "Well, I didn't expect much to come of it, but as soon as I looked at that signal I noticed something… extra. Apparently, when chocobos communicate, there's another sound carrying way above the 'kweh' that we hear – some really high frequency chirp that's so imbedded it's probably a species-old adaptation. It isn't audible to humans. And when I found it, after I'd been watching how Dajh whistled that little tune of his to calm Chaz, I thought: What would happen if I introduced a harmonically adjusted version of Dajh's tune onto that same frequency?"

"You made that leap?" Hope asked quietly, astonished. "Just like that?"

_He really is a mad genius._

Maqui scratched his head. "Well… yeah. From there, it was a cinch to plug my altered audio recording into the Siren's storage and tune the frequency. I tried it on Chaz a couple of times to make sure it worked. Of course, I wasn't one hundred percent certain that _all _breeds of chocobo respond to the exact same frequency, so I had to tweak it slightly for this operation, but the two settings were pretty damn close in the end."

Shaking his heavy head after such unbelieveable information, Hope leaned back on his hands and said with a grin, "You really do win the day with this whole scheme. It's pure genius."

"Hope, my 'genius' is just thinking outside the box, along with a borderline insane tendency to take risks," Maqui scoffed. "Once in a while that pays off, but a lot o' times I just blow stuff up." He chuckled to himself. "Hell, you _know_ all of this. You've seen it!"

"More like survived it," Hope muttered, and they both laughed until exhaustion finally settled over them, combining with the soothing heat of the huddled birds to lull them to sleep.

* * *

"_Serah?" Hope asked softly. He didn't feel like opening his eyes, but the warmth enveloping his body and the vibration of someone else's breathing alerted him to another presence._

_He reached out and stroked her hair. It had to be her hair – so smooth and downy. "Serah, why are you here?"_

_She wasn't answering, and Hope was baffled as to what circumstances could possibly plant her sleeping form beside him after so many months apart. He puzzled over that and considered waking himself up, but he was so comfortable…_

"KWEH!" _Crack!_ Hope felt his body jerk and his head hit the floor. He blinked his fogged-over eyes at a frenzy of purple chaos surrounding him. The blurry forms of chocobos screeched and flapped around in the tight space, panicking like penned chickens. Feathers floated everywhere and carpeted the engine in dark patches. Nearby, Maqui was on his feet, chasing one of the chocobos toward the access panel.

"Hope! Get your ass up and _help_ me!" he shouted desperately.

Hope rolled away from a clawed foot in the nick of time – it landed with a clang on the metal where his arm had been. He clambered to his feet unsteadily, squeezing through the chocobos that were crowding near the exit to get to Maqui. Once there, Hope fought to regain his bearings and the two boys put concentrated effort into guiding the first chocobo up a makeshift ramp through the floor panel.

From his position at the top of the ramp, Sazh called down, "You boys gonna make it?"

"Hell yeah!" Maqui shouted back, shoving on the next chocobo to move it into position at the base of the ramp. He narrowly dodged a snap of the bird's beak.

Still somewhat dazed and breathless, Hope took the opposite side of the chocobo and held it fast. He called hoarsely, "Wh-what's going on?"

"Not sure!" Maqui yelled. "They were getting restless, an' within a minute it turned into pandemonium! Snow must've shut off the Siren."

They pushed in tandem and the chocobo scampered up and out through the floor panel, Sazh's head briefly reappearing above. "Seven to go! Let's move it along!"

Hope lost track of time in the rush of activity, but the work was expediated by the crazed chocobos' need to escape the cramped engine area. When all was said and done he and Maqui leaned over against their knees at the base of the ramp, panting. They had survived, taking only a few pecks to the arms and blows to the head from fluttering wings. Mostly recovered, they staggered up the ramp into the main cabin.

"Holy Etro," Maqui growled, "Why are these devil birds still in here?" They were all in the cargo hold, separated from the rest of the ship by the rolled-down rope net. Thankfully, they had settled down to a state of pacing anxiously and only making a low chorus of whining squawks.

Sazh looked just as apprehensive at his post against the main cabin entrance. He pressed his face to the viewing port, tapping his boot on the floor.

"What's happening out there?" Hope asked immediately. He rushed over to the pilot and peered outside himself. In the waning evening light, he could just make out the battling forms of two soldiers and some creature that charged so fast it became a gray-white blur. Its teeth found a mark, hints of dark liquid smearing its muzzle. The bleeding soldier's mouth opened in a muted scream as he slashed wildly at the beast and wrenched his leg free.

_No! I have to do something! I have to…_

Hope gasped; he felt his body surge with adrenaline in response to the danger, and his hand found the boomerang over his right shoulder – he _could_ do something. Without a second thought, he lifted the cabin door's airlock handle, deaf to Sazh's protests and the hiss of the pressurized seal, and shoved the door wide.

In the seemingly slow-motion moment after his boots hit the snow, Hope's eyes darted around, sweeping the area. The purple flock was scattered and running in all directions from a small pack of albino lobos. They would have been an easy meal for the predators had it not been for thirty armed soldiers in their midst and Snow's apparent decision to shut off the Siren. Hope zeroed in on the lobo circling the wounded soldier and his comrade nearby. He said a silent prayer, activated the Airwing's electrical field timer and sent it flying through the air toward the beast.

The impact made an audible sizzling sound as the boomerang knocked the lobo off its feet, its limbs spasming at unnatural angles from the electrical current before going still. For a moment, the frigid air reeked with the smell of burnt fur.

There was no time to glory in it. Hope charged through the snow, needing twice the effort to run half the speed, but it was sufficient for him to scoop up his boomerang and face the stunned soldiers there.

"Get him inside, now," Hope said breathlessly, and the uninjured woman nodded. She helped her team mate limp along quickly toward the ladder entry, her gunblade still at the ready. Seeing that most of the lobos had begun to close in on the shadowy canyon wall in an effort to trap a cluster of their remaining prey, Hope left the pair to take on new targets.

As he approached, it became more and more obvious that things were about to get ugly. He spotted Snow on the inside of the tightening semicircle of lobos with ten other soldiers, poised to defend about a dozen of the nesting chocobos that had probably been too preoccupied with their chicks to flee. The rest of the combined squads, some fifteen or so men and women, had taken up positions to pick off beasts skirting the edges of the pack. Hope listened to the guns firing at intervals, but it wasn't nearly as frequent as he would've expected, given the urgency of the situation.

Then he heard the gut-wrenching click of an empty gun to his far right, and he understood. They were running out of ammunition.

Hope took one more sinking step forward and raised the Airwing. He scanned the line of predators for an ideal mark.

On the end of the semicircle nearest the canyon wall, one lobo had gotten bolder than the others, darting in to nip at the tail of a mother chocobo when she instinctively shrank back at a gunshot. The predator caught only feathers, and the infuriated chocobo whipped around and scratched the lobo's face with her talons. It backed out again with a whimper, right in range.

_Gotcha._

The boomerang struck the lobo's ribs with a crunch and a buzz of electricity. Such a direct chest shot killed it with the sure speed of cardiac arrest. A ripple effect of the smoke wafting up from the singed beast had the chocobos screeching like mad, but it also froze the other lobos in their tracks. For better or worse, they turned to Hope, teeth bared.

In the half-second while everyone seemed to collectively hold their breath, Hope locked his questioning eyes with Snow's steely ones. He caught the dangerous smirk on the man's face.

And in the next half-second, Snow barreled into the nearest lobo, cracking his fists against its bones like sledgehammers. The beast howled and snapped, only to get its jaw dislocated by the next punch. Hope looked on, astounded, until a frenzy of movement pulled his attention away. As if on cue, every soldier within a thirty meter radius of Snow paired off, picked their marks and charged in with shouts and swinging blades.

Hope extended his boomerang's blades as well and leapt right in with the team mate fighting nearby. The lobo they faced was young and sinewy, growling with rage. It easily wove around the soldier's attacks to clamp down on his scabbard from behind, flinging him against a jutting rock. His head made contact, and he was down for the count. An easy kill. The lobo circled its prey, drooling and primed to strike for the throat. As it flashed its teeth, Hope saw red – he charged in from the beast's right flank to deliver a vicious slash that shredded its ear and left a jagged tear down its face. While that saved the unconscious soldier, the attack served to infuriate the lobo. It crouched low and pounced straight at Hope. He was knocked on his back in the snow and pinned beneath the beast's paws, separated from dripping fangs by the thin metal strip of his boomerang. The lobo gnawed on his weapon at a point just below the blades, trying to snap at Hope's face. Its breath was so rancid Hope was almost grateful he could barely breathe. One heavy, clawed foot dug into his bandaged left arm, shooting fiery pain up to his neck and down his side. A hoarse scream ripped from his throat.

For a moment, he wondered if this would be the way he died, fear flashing bright in his heart.

_No… Light, I—_

Two pistol shots rang through the cold air, and the collapsing dead weight of the lobo crushed Hope deeper into the snow, hot blood from its multiple head wounds dribbling down to coat the left side of Hope's face and congealing in the fur against his icy skin. His right eye shot open, teary and confused when it landed on the dark poof of hair hovering over him. Sazh holstered his smoking pistols and rolled the beast off of Hope with a grunt.

"Need a hand, son?"

Hope reached up and let Sazh haul him to his feet, crying out when the strain alerted him that he'd used his left arm again. His right hand still clenched the boomerang that had separated him from death. He swiped the sticky blood from his left eye and blinked rapidly, searching across the field until his gaze finally landed on Snow again. The yeti of a man had splotches of gore all over his fists and coat, but he was clearly unharmed. He kicked another lobo with such force that it flew into the canyon wall and fell with a soft thud.

_Wow. I must've been too pissed off back on Cocoon to notice the damage he could do. Sis, you really are in good hands._

The longer Hope watched the battle play out before him, the more he felt convinced that the soldiers on both squads were likewise encouraged by the spectacle of Snow Villiers. Bloody red gashes covered the albino fur of several lobo corpses scattered across the area, and those that were still on the attack were either taking less chances or fleeing altogether.

Satisfied that the tide had turned, Hope motioned for Sazh to help him with his unconscious team mate. The soldier's pulse was normal, nasty bump on his head notwithstanding, so they took no further actions before hauling him back to the transport.

A handful of wounded were already sprawled inside the main cabin of NAUTILUS – most were bundled up in the seats, with only a couple laid out on stretchers. The medics from both squads had been hard at work with bandages and ice packs, and the ragged faces of the shivering soldiers were disheartening, but everyone was alive. Hope released his pent-up fears in a long, whooshing breath. He collapsed into one of the empty bucket seats and allowed his eyes to close. His heart began to settle.

"You okay?" the medic from Snow's squad asked, tilting Hope's bloody face to inspect his head for injury. Once she found nothing under his matted hair, her eyes darted down to the line of blood that had seeped through the bandage on his arm.

"I'm fine," Hope mumbled. He didn't want to look at the stitches, much less have anyone touch them.

Rolling her eyes, the medic sighed. "Your sister's gonna kill you."

"Wait, what?" Hope did a double-take. "How do you know my sister?"

"I'm her intern, _Hope_. She talks about you all the time," she said, her aggravation plain. "And she warned me about your arm."

As she probed around the bandage, tisking at the bleeding but otherwise not disturbing anything further, it occurred to Hope that the whole situation was too impossibly convenient to be coincidental. He made a mental note to discuss it with Serah.

_First she got Snow involved, and now, even her own intern…_

Clearing his throat, Hope asked quietly, "Any chance I could get some ibuprofen? I've still gotta fly us back home, you know."

The medic fished around in her field bag and produced a small bottle, unceremoniously dumping a thick pill in his upturned palm. Hope swallowed it dry and slumped back in his seat.

"Just grab a granola bar and try not to do anything _non-essential_ from now on, 'kay? Miss Serah always says there's nothing more deadly than a Hero complex," she added brusquely, moving on to the soldier seated to his right.

_Peachy. I wonder how many of these undercover watchdogs are gonna be stuck with me for Serah's peace of mind. Not that it isn't worth it for her, but still…_

Suddenly his mind was rattled off course by the churning combustion of the engine starting up. He laughed out loud, his voice swallowed by the noise. Not two seconds later, Maqui hopped out of the mechanical space's floor panel with a ridiculous grin plastered on his face.

"It worked!" he declared, raising his hands in triumph. "Chocobo-primed restart! Who'd've ever thought it?"

"Only a mental case like you!" Hope shouted back.

And on the tail-end of their celebration, the main hatch swung open with a loud creak, flurries swirling past Snow's stooped figure in the cabin entrance. He didn't bother coming into the transport but cupped his hands around his mouth and announced, "Everbody on the BARTHOLOMEW crew, back to the transport in five minutes for takeoff! Let's move!"

The lot of bandaged soldiers laughing and limping their way down the access ladder of NAUTILUS and across the darkening snowy terrain was a sight to behold. A bone-chilling wind had picked up, but no one seemed to mind. They even cheered when Sazh lowered his transport's cargo ramp to release the nine remaining chocobos, which immediately veered toward their families near the canyon wall.

"Hey Hope," Maqui said, nudging him in the ribs as they waited for the team to clamber up the ladder into BARTHOLOMEW's cabin. "Don't know about you, but I learned something new today."

"Ya think?" Hope muttered sarcastically, shaking his head.

Maqui patted the Airwing on Hope's back. "Yep. Turns out your weapon _isn't_ the lamest thing in history. Never would've called it, Boomerang Boy."

"Maqui…" Hope growled.

"Hm?"

"If you call me another name," he threatened, "Snow gets to be my copilot."

Maqui just snorted and placed a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. "Pick your poison, I guess."

* * *

**Endnotes: Yet again, some of the pink assault on my draft was humorous, so I'm citing beta-roomie here for your entertainment!**

**When Maqui mentions that Hope can choose his schedule: "way to throw Hope under the bus, Gippal :P"**

**When Maqui threatens to get Baralai to pull the 'mission' card: "dooooooouche. Also, good military leadership ^_^"**

**When Hope suggests that Maqui should care what's best: "that ****is**** what he's doing, buttmunch"**

**After the mention of flesh-eating bugs: "are you alluding to The Mummy? WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT? 0.0"**

**When Hope is suiting up in matching squad gear: "except for his hair, which I'm sure is ****crazy**** out of regs."**

**When Hope bemoans his inaccuracy with guns: "go for the kneecaps :P"**

**When Serah reflects on the changes in her household: "Hope is not your pet, Serah -_-"**

**When Serah asks Dajh if he's gonna grow up to be like Snow: "oh god not another one 0.0"**

**After Hope's reaction when Snow admits that he's already talked to Gippal: "HAHAHA f**k you Snow :D"**

**When Hope protests that he 'never said that' to Snow: "actually, you ****really**** strongly implied it, so STFU Hope."**

**During the section after Hope asks if the chocobos are hostile: "ok this s**t is proving to be hilarious XD"**

**When Sazh sets aside the female chocobo: "is he… trying to be Chaz's pimp? :P" (btw, YES)**

**After the chocobos freak out and Maqui explains that Snow must've turned off the Siren: "dammit Snow. Hope should've stabbed you when he had the chance."**

**When Hope has the revelatory thought that Serah is in good hands with Snow: "I really want to make a sex joke right now, ngl."**

**When Hope realises that Serah may have planted people to watch out for him: "haha MEDDLESOME SERAH IS MEDDLESOME. :P"**


	20. You, you, you

**A/N: *insert usual apology for being ridiculously late, with tears* ;_; Well folks, this is it. Sort of. This is the last chapter in the story proper of my prequel; the epilogue will be in the works, so keep an eye out. Speaking of things that are in the works, I've had a few messages here and there from readers requesting that I write a sequel to AiR, effectively rounding out my fics into a trilogy. If any readers currently on this chapter would be interested in a third installment, I would REALLY appreciate feedback along with the review for this chapter. Thanks to all my wonderful readers for sticking with me through this ginormous project, and (maybe) this won't be the last you hear from me ;-)**

**OH yes, and a couple of things I'd like you to look out for are:**

**1. My reasoning for choosing this title (yeah I know they're all based on lyrics, but I chose this particular three-word-repetition-cluster for the title because it reflects on another chapter...)**

**2. A sneaky reference. I gave Serah a specific line (quote/thought) that referenced the full meaning of Hope Estheim's name in a crafty way without actually mentioning him at all ^_^**

**Before we begin, a note:**

***att – at this time**

You, you, you

It was a glorious season of renewal outside. The chocobos were breeding on the ranch, luminescent butterflies – and alarmingly giant bees – were pollinating like mad, and Serah was skipping from shelf to shelf around the lab storage room in a rush to finish spring inventory.

She squinted again at the list in her logbook, matching the contents of the cold storage unit with the corresponding materials. There were quite a lot of chemicals to be counted, all thanks to a series of opportunistic supply trips – none of which had gone awry since the blizzard-grounded flight of NAUTILUS over a year before. The many months in between had passed in a continuous string of trips and projects for Sazh and Hope, of meetings and missions for Snow, and of neverending lab work for Serah and the clinic staff to improve on an antiviral treatment. Dozens of terrible cases had hit during the previous summertime flare-up, but it was because of such an influx of new trial-and-error data that she and the team of doctors made progress at all.

Now, April had arrived again, that beautiful month of rejuvenation and reflection before chaos ensued. Serah closed her immaculate logbook and stashed it in the hanging bin on the wall, allowing herself a moment to just think before she made good on her early release for the day. Her friends hadn't needed to twist her arm this time about requesting the break, given how excited everyone was to celebrate the final day of what Snow jokingly referred to as _Operation Stovetop_ – Hope's ambitious project to create her kitchen.

_Hope, you never back down on your promises, do you?_

Years ago, he had been preparing for this future. She could still picture him on the stairs that morning, sea green eyes awash with concern when he told her, _"Someday, sooner than you think, this will be a home for you and Snow and your family."_

As she played with the miniature Cocoon pendant hanging around her neck, her mind journeyed through the changes that had rocked her 'home.' It astounded her that two winters had come and gone since Snow returned and Hope moved out. Gradual as it was, her routine had so permanently shifted course from then on that she felt disoriented when Hope reappeared, set to start work on the promised kitchen in late October.

_I suppose it was fair warning, when he wanted plumbing supplies for his birthday…_

Since then, the nineteen-year-old had slipped over at least a couple of evenings every week unless he was flying a supply trip, burying himself in plaster and pipes and wires. Sure, Serah could barely get him to stay for dinner – he always said he was a mess, she'd point to the bathroom, and he'd refuse to impose unless occasionally guilted into compliance – but it warmed her heart to see him in the house.

A small laugh bubbled its way up her throat. She was thinking about one of many Tuesdays, several weeks ago…

"_Snow, what on Pulse are you doing?" Serah shouted down the stairs, one hand wielding a wooden spoon and the other perched on her hip. "What's making that noise?"_

_He called back happily, "Don't worry about it, babe!"_

_Another round of feeble thumps resonated in the walls and stairwell, giving the impression that someone was pounding on the back door. But Serah had already checked that door, and from the stairwell she could hear a muffled, infuriated voice shouting a string of unintelligible words somewhere below._

"_Hope?" she called out, rushing into the dusty basement. _

_Hope was nowhere to be seen, but the knocks echoed around the room again. "Snow!" he shouted just clearly enough to discern, "C'mon, let me out!"_

_It seemed like his fuzzy voice came from everywhere at once. Serah surveyed the basement, noting only two locations with doors along with a very smug Snow leaning against the wall. She ran around and wrenched open the broom closet, catching a mop as it fell but otherwise finding it empty, and then darted to the cabinet below the newly-installed sink, throwing open its double doors to see nothing but pipes. She'd doubted if anyone but Dajh could fit under there anyway._

"_Snow, where is he?" she asked, glaring him down. He just shrugged and smirked fiendishly. _

"_Where do you think he is?"_

"_Serah, is that you?" Hope called, pounding his fists desperately again. "I'm here! Right in here! Hurry! There might be centipedes or cockroaches or something!"_

_Looking at Snow, she finally noticed the outline of a removable wall panel behind him – it appeared to be identical to the adjacent ones, but slightly off._

"_Snow, let him out," Serah demanded. "Now!" She jabbed the spoon at his face with every syllable._

_Snow just crossed his arms defiantly. "Hey Hope," he called over his shoulder, "You want out, you know the drill. Serah's right here waiting. Isn't that nice?"_

_A heavy sigh rumbled behind the wall panel. "Just let me out and I'll do it."_

"_There's a good little brother," Snow teased. He turned and pressed his hands against the panel. "Give us a push, Hope."_

_The panel popped loose and scraped along the floor, allowing Snow to slide it aside. A sheepish looking Hope spun around and stumbled forward, ghostlike under a layer of powdery film. He bowed his head at Serah._

"_I-I would love to stay for dinner, Sis."_

Coming out of her reverie, cold reality slapped Serah in the face again. Things certainly had improved since Snow pulled his famous stunt, but it seemed pointless now that the kitchen project was practically finished. Those happy dinners had flown by, existing only in her memories.

_It's all going to end after today, isn't it?_

She didn't want that – not a repeat of last year. The long, hectic spans of Serah's day-to-day life had hardly been broken up by infrequent interactions with her little brother, primarily during his monthly check-ups at the clinic. That was hardly quality time.

_He was busy, though. We were all so busy..._

On multiple occasions, she'd found herself wishing for Hope's opinion or just his sympathetic ear, but she never did act on those impulses. Pestering Hope seemed selfish. _If he could spare the time_, she always told herself, _he'd visit me_.

And visit he finally did – all through the late fall and winter months into spring, slaving away on the basement kitchen and spoiling her with the easy access to his thoughts. Before Hope could disappear again, she desperately needed those thoughts one more time, to mitigate a very personal problem.

_I don't think I can talk to Snow directly… No. He might just get defensive._

Her brow wrinkled with worry lines as she mulled over the issue at hand for the thousandth time: for the past month, something had been eating Snow. Something that he kept to himself because it clearly involved her. She couldn't put her finger on it, but she had both a hypothesis and a sneaking suspicion that Hope might be able to confirm it. At the least, he could give her advice.

And he was probably still at her house, alone.

Serah sighed and pulled out her communicator, calling Maqui on her usual channel.

"'Sup, Serah?" he piped cheerfully, his mouth obviously half-full of food. "Thought you'd be here by now."

"O-oh yeah. Right, well… Sorry about this, Maqui, but can you tell everyone I'm gonna skip on lunch?" she asked, hoping she didn't sound too suspicious. "Something came up. I'll see you all at the house after, though. Promise!"

He swallowed his food with a loud gulp and huffed into his headset. "Fine, but try not to be late for the grand finale of _Operation Stovetop_. Hope says he's still wrapping up the outlets, and Snow just got here like two _seconds_ ago. So predictable…"

"Maqui, you know he's a busy man with his scary meetings," she scolded playfully. "Anyway, I gotta go. See you in a bit!" Serah snapped the communicator closed, shoved it back into her pocket, and ran out of the lab.

_If I hurry, I can catch Hope._

* * *

Nimble fingers separated and guided the wiring to its destination, twisting the hairlike filaments in place. Hope blew away the settling dust to give his work a once-over and carefully nestled the final receptacle into the wall, securing it with screws. He eased himself off the floor and creakily to his feet, mopping his face with his bandanna before wandering upstairs to flip the breaker switches back on. A quick shuffle down to the basement again, and he got a successful voltage test on every receptacle. The soon-to-be kitchen hummed with potential.

_Harnessing the power of the gods, all for a bit of home-cooking._

Hope laughed at his own over-idealized thoughts. Making connections to outlets was so much more mundane than the words in his head made it sound. Yet, he had to admit feeling empowered when dealing with any form of electricity. It was a force unseen that he and everyone else had taken for granted all their lives – something casually brushed over in glossy textbook entries that spoke of the millions of fal'Cie responsible for running Cocoon. That same careless mentality had even carried over to post-landing Settlement life, where power was siphoned from the crystallized shell of their home like a back-up generator. Hope could only guess how long that system might last, but it was no longer his reality. Through life on the rebel base, dealing with mechanically generated windmill-and-water power in the ruins of an ancient city on a foreign world, he had truly begun to appreciate the act of plugging in a toaster. Of boiling water in the electric kettle.

Of flooding a room with light at the flip of a switch.

_Speaking of that…_

Hope crossed to the stairwell again and turned on the new overhead light, giving a dreamy cast to the basement as it illuminated countless tiny dust particles. It seemed like he was standing inside a cloud. He smiled, closed his eyes, and let his imagination flit around from possibility to possibility of the memories that would be made in the shiny new room.

_Sazh'll be back from his trip soon, Snow's team can go after Light and bring her home, and hopefully we'll find Dad before long… Then we can all have dinner here. Together._

Warm and fuzzy with wishful thoughts, he tilted his head back and took a deep breath.

That was a mistake. Hope nearly coughed up a dust-coated lung in the minute that followed, beating his chest as he stumbled up the stairs for clean air.

"Are you… okay?"

Serah's inquisitive eyes pinned him from the landing. "Would you like a mask?" She fished around in her pocket and held out a folded, bluish square with strings.

Rapid-fire sneezing into his gloves, Hope shook his head and bolted past her toward the open doorway. He sucked in great gulps of the fresh spring air.

"Sorry, Sis," Hope rasped, finally recovering as he leaned against the doorframe. "Do you know when the guys are bringing the appliances in?"

She checked her watch and cracked a smile, replying a tad too sweetly, "Oh, I don't think it's going to be for another hour. Tea sound good?"

Hope quirked an eyebrow, fixing his openly skeptical eyes on her. "Er… sure. But really, is something up, Serah? I thought you'd be at lunch now."

"I may have skipped, and um… mentioned I'd be home a little late," she admitted quietly, looking anywhere but his face. She shuffled closer and ran a finger over the scar just below his left t-shirt sleeve. "Didn't take very good care of this, did we?"

Hope gave her a shy, fleeting grin and said, "I told you before, I _like_ it." He lifted her chin and searched her troubled gaze, his lips forming a tense line. "Now what's going on that merits the banishment of NORA for you to even talk about it?"

"Well, it's… just…" she said haltingly, weakly gripping his wrist. "Can we go make the tea first?"

"Yeah, of course." Hope ushered her off the landing and into the living room, planting Serah on the new couch – still foreign to him – and crossing to their makeshift coffee bar. He set the water on to boil in the electric kettle, rummaging around in the cabinets as he asked, "What kind would you like?"

"Um… whatever you're having is fine," Serah offered in a hollow voice. It wasn't like her to be so noncommittal about tea in her own home, and Hope froze in his search as that consideration sank in. Recovering, he snatched the box of mint tea, fixed up their mugs, and returned to the couch to wait.

Serah sat twisting and untwisting the spiral curl at the end of her braid around her finger. She jumped slightly as his weight settled on the adjacent cushion, but did not bother to turn toward him.

"Hope," she said faintly, "has Snow been asking you a lot of questions… a-about me, lately?"

Hope blinked and frowned – he felt intrigued but confused, completely unable to gauge what she was getting at. His green eyes burned into the side of her head as he replied, "Well, no – nothing out of the ordinary. I mean, he asked me if you like _everything_ raspberry flavored, but that was a couple of months ago."

The mention got a short, nervous giggle out of her. "You said yes, didn't you?"

"Yeah," Hope said, scratching his head. "Why, was I wrong?"

_I shouldn't want to know. Ugh, why did I ask?_

"N-no – just wondering," Serah hastily redirected. She took a few deep breaths, her mouth opening and closing as she sought the necessary words, before she continued to lay out her concerns.

"So he… _hasn't_ been asking you about what happened…" she began hesitantly, "you know, back in-in Central?"

"Oh." Suddenly it all made sense. Storm clouds seemed to be gathering at the edges of the living room, threatening to rain down despair, and Hope put a protective arm around Serah's shoulders to hug her in close. "Snow hasn't asked me anything like that. What makes you think he knows?"

"Just little things, ever since last month," Serah explained in a small voice. "He came back from that infiltration mission looking so excited – said they'd eliminated the number three site as a possibility. I had no reason to think anything was up, but a couple of days later he started acting… different."

Stroking her hair, Hope urged, "Can you tell me how?"

"He just… gives me these sad looks, all the time," she said, her voice shrinking even further, "and he doesn't treat me the same as before. He's been apologising for _everything_ lately. It's like he sees a china doll in my place, a-and if he isn't careful… he might break me."

_Strictly speaking, that would be easy. But knowing Snow, he would die first._

In the uneasy hush after her confession, Hope searched his mind for an explanation. He felt certain he'd never breathed a word about the details of Serah's horrific experiences to anyone since it happened, much less to Snow. There were memories locked away in his head that not even Miss Ann was privy to, and Hope knew the doctor would take her own knowledge to the grave before betraying Serah. In fact, all of the others were fiercely loyal to Serah's wish that it be forgotten.

_The only other source would be old reports. Did he get into the GC records? I bet he read the summary of Ann's findings after the examination. But why would he bother looking for information on events he doesn't even know about? Why now?_

The electric kettle made a loud _click_, indicating it was ready. Hope gently pulled away from Serah to get up and pour the water, returning with the steaming mugs. He hoped the mint would calm her, however slightly.

"Serah," he began, blowing across the surface of his tea, "I don't think anyone told Snow. I think he might've found out from some classified case file, and he's just having trouble dealing with the shock. Maybe he feels guilty. We've all been there… but we've had time to recover. If you want, I can talk to him."

Serah slumped back against the couch with a defeated sigh. "I really should talk to him myself. It shouldn't still bother me this much… I-I mean, it's been years. But I'm afraid he'll ask me more questions if I open the subject. That he'll get more answers out of me than I want to give." Shakily placing her mug on the coffee table, Serah turned her teary, desperate face to him.

"Hope, there are some things I _never_ want to say out loud. Never again."

"Well then, that settles it," Hope said definitively. He swiped an escaped tear from her cheek with his thumb, smiling to chase away the rest. "I'm going to talk to him. He needs to know that we've all put the past behind us, and that's that. Alright?"

"I-I guess that's best. I'm sorry to be dropping this on you—"

"Don't be," Hope protested. "That's what I'm here for. Snow may be back, but I've got to keep an eye on you until Light returns, remember? Then you won't have to put up with me interfering anymore." That struck him as wrong, and he clumsily corrected, "Um… I mean – just n-not as much, that is."

Her smile was fragile, but Hope was happy to see it. Serah curled up next to him like a small child and rested her head on his shoulder. Unexpectedly, she started giggling.

"What's so funny?" Hope asked, rolling his eyes.

Serah poked his side and snorted, "You're all sweaty again."

_Ick. I'm so used to being gross from work that I don't even think…_

Blushing, Hope pulled at his t-shirt self-consciously. "If it's that bad, I won't blame you for finding another pillow."

"Nope!" Serah insisted, beaming up at him as she squeezed his arm. "I want this one."

* * *

There were scraping sounds at the doorway_._ Hope merely pushed them to the back of his mind, re-settling his cheek against Serah's head and slipping back into a half-asleep state, but he launched up from the couch when something heavy hit the landing with a loud _thump_. As he stretched, Serah just grumbled and flopped sideways onto his previous seat to continue her nap. Turning, he saw that Gadot had arrived and dumped the first of the countertop slabs at the top of the stairwell.

"Need a hand?" Hope called, propelling himself from the living room and skidding to a stop in the entryway.

Gadot dusted his hands and squatted at the front edge of the slab, ready to lift. "Yeah, just grab the other side. We've got three o' these babies."

Being on the upper end as they maneuvered down the stairs, Hope didn't feel he was doing much of the work, but Gadot stubbornly refused to switch as they repeated the process with all three slabs. Given the weight of the polished stone, his reasoning was sound. Each time they entered the basement, Hope's eyes landed on the one item of interest in the large room, and it occurred to him how ironic it seemed for the room to contain _only_ the kitchen sink, installed along with all the cabinetry before anything else would be added. Even before the countertops.

With grunts of effort, they painstakingly aligned the final slab atop the short end of the inverted 'L' of lower cabinets. Gadot stood back and inspected their handiwork, crossing his beefy arms in satisfaction.

"This what you had in mind, master remodeler?" he teased, elbowing Hope in the ribs.

Hope clenched his teeth at the likely-bruising contact. "Y-yeah, it's even better than I imagined. You do this sort of thing often, huh?"

Heading back for the stairs, Gadot said casually, "Heh, we've helped build half the stuff on this base."

As the burly man left, Yuj came flying past him on the stairs, charging into the basement with a coffee maker cradled protectively in his arms.

"We've got to… plug this in _first_!" he announced, gasping for air.

Hope eyed him quizzically but waved both arms toward one of the counter outlets. "Be my guest. Any particular reason it has to be first, though?"

"Because _this_," Yuj said emphatically, gently settling the coffee maker on the countertop, "is no ordinary appliance. It's NORA's old coffee pot from the Settlement. Maqui fixed it up like new, and Lebreau insisted that I bring it to Serah's kitchen as a 'room-warming' gift, of sorts." He paused, spinning to face Hope and raising his index finger in the air, his dark hazel eyes suddenly serious. "But she had one condition. She said it had to be the first thing plugged into the kitchen – something to do with an old superstition about a room revolving around its first appliance. I think she wants this coffee maker to bring good luck."

Smothering the laugh that erupted from his throat, Hope took a slow breath through his gloves before he dared to speak. "Aw, you sure sinks don't count? 'Cause I have a really good feeling about this one – came from a factory with happy vibes," he teased, walking over to pat the porcelain edge. Yuj nailed him with a disdainful look.

_Killjoy. _

"Uh… nevermind," Hope sighed as he moved on. "That's really thoughtful of Lebreau, but did you actually buy into this superstition? I always took you for a more rational individual."

Yuj made a flailing gesture of exasperation and pulled Hope close to the counter by the hand, instructing him plainly, "Just plug it in. I may not really believe in that crazy woman's notions, but she'd be crushed if I failed to _properly_ ring in Serah's new kitchen."

"Well, shouldn't Serah be doing this ceremonial thing?" Hope asked tentatively, inspecting the cord for flaws out of habit. "I mean, it is her kitchen."

"Lebreau didn't specify," Yuj deadpanned, hand on his hip. "And between you and me, if there's any truth to this superstition, _you_ could really use the 'favor of the goddess' the most. Serah's a lucky, lucky girl already."

_If you only knew… Besides, this is sad. Probably more useless than wishing on fireworks, but I guess it can't hurt._

Shrugging, Hope stuck the plug into the outlet and stepped back. The red power light came on and he smiled at seeing the fruits of his electrical work, but he didn't feel any different about his own prospects. "Thanks, Yuj," he said quietly, staring at the operational coffee maker. "I'll let you know if my luck changes."

_We've got to find Lightning. I can't think of Dad without wondering if he's dead or alive, but at least we know Light's alive and waiting, and Serah could really use a sister to help with all this craziness in her life. The GC is getting so close… _

_But is it wrong of me to want her back this much? What if I come on too strong and just freak her out? I need to get a handle on this._

_Click._ A bright light suddenly flashed at the side of Hope's face, startling him from his thoughts. He scowled.

"What the hell—!"

"Hey, I don't have a good picture of you for this year," Yuj said, grinning and waving off his hostility. He checked the picture on his camera's viewing screen. "That was a lovely contemplative look, after all."

"That's because I was trying to _think_," Hope muttered.

Yuj just ruffled Hope's dust-and-sweat plastered hair and pulled up the entire silver mop of it in his hand, inspecting the length. "You'll have plenty of time to think while I trim this disaster," he huffed. "Your haircut is definitely happening today. This is insulting." He released the locks and escaped to the stairwell like he couldn't stand another minute in the presence of such a sight. Hope's sticky hair held its upright position for a few aggravating seconds before falling in his face.

Blowing his bangs out of his eyes, Hope leaned back against the counter. He could hear the clanging and crashing sounds of the stove as Snow and Gadot began hauling it down the stairs. That would leave only the skinny mid-sized refrigerator to install, some minor tasks of stocking and cleaning, and everything would be ready. Serah could have her surprise, NORA would leave, and he could catch Snow for questioning. Hope stared intensely at the handle of the broom closet under the stairs. Some small part of him wanted to hide.

_This chat is going to be a new level of uncomfortable, isn't it?_

"He-ey! Cocoon to Hope!" Maqui called, waving a hand in Hope's face as his blonde head bounced into the center of his view. "You with us today?"

Startled, Hope banged his tailbone against the counter's edge – he'd completely missed the point at which his friend arrived. "Ow… What?" he grumbled.

Maqui grabbed his arm and towed him to the stairs. "Lebreau's got a mountain of kitchen supplies out there! We could use an extra set of hands."

Hope numbly complied; his mind was still on Serah's dilemma, but he could only deal with that once the project was completed. Together with Maqui, Yuj and Lebreau, he hauled boxes full of dishes, cuptowels, and odd gadgets into the basement one by one as Snow and Gadot finished setting up the stove. On his final trip, Hope glanced over to the living room and saw that Serah had not stirred, her sock-clad feet visible from where she'd propped them on the couch arm.

Someone tapped him on the shoulder, and Hope spun, almost dropping the box of plates in his arms.

Snickering, Lebreau snatched the box away. She handed him a long strip of dark cloth and leaned in to whisper, "For the surprise. Mind doing the honors?"

"I'd rather not use a blindfold," Hope said quietly, fiddling with the cloth. He couldn't be entirely sure, but that seemed like the sort of thing that would make Serah uncomfortable. _Anything_ that could make her feel trapped seemed wrong, considering her current concerns.

Lebreau just flipped her hair and sauntered away with the box. "Do whatever you want, honey – just don't let her come downstairs yet. I'm running the show from here."

_Right. How long is this production gonna take?_

Hope dusted his cargo pants and resigned himself to sitting on the couch, carefully lifting Serah's head into his lap; she only whimpered softly as she curled up on her side, not waking. Hope leaned back and let his eyelids fall shut, allowing his mind to sift through the exact words he should say to Snow.

"_So Snow, been doing a lot of research lately?" Not so much – too vague._

"_Hey Snow, Serah said you've been acting kinda down. What gives?" Nah, that's way too direct, and it places the blame on Serah._

"_Listen Snow, I'm not trying to be nosy or anything, but I heard you found some interesting new information after that last mission. Mind sharing?" Hm… promising approach, but it's a bit too roundabout. Could miss the mark altogether._

_Still, that may be the best I can do._

Hope shifted his leg slightly, making sure Serah's head wouldn't land on the screwdriver in his left pocket. He smoothed her hair and resolved to save his worries for after the kitchen reveal.

* * *

Serah shuffled her feet at the base of the stairs, the beginnings of jittery anticipation building in her chest. She'd felt them descend one step at a time, Hope leading her by the hands while she squeezed her eyes shut. Now, he stood behind her with his gloves blocking her view. She could hear his light breathing, the scuff of boots in the basement, and then the sounds of sniffles and throats being cleared – they were waiting on a signal.

"Ready, Sis?" he asked right next to her ear, and she nodded once.

Hope dropped his hands from her eyes to her shoulders. Groggily, Serah blinked at the warmly lit room, unable to focus until her gaze landed on the beautiful raspberry tart in the middle of a circular kitchen table, and then on the five expectant faces around it.

"_Operation Stovetop_ is complete!" Maqui announced, throwing his hands in the air. The others were all smiling brightly, waiting for her to speak – even Snow's confident grin made an appearance after its long absence.

But Serah was dumbstruck. Her eyes roamed the room, taking in the handmade wooden cabinet doors that reminded her of the ones Gadot had fashioned for Lebreau's original restaurant; the old stove that had obviously been refitted with better parts; the mid-sized fridge peppered with colorful magnets and photos; and lastly the floral print tablecloth and matching cuptowels. She could not fathom the amount of time and effort her friends had spent to accomplish it all.

She felt a gentle squeeze to her shoulder, and Hope whispered, "What do you think?"

_What do I think? Are there _words _for this?_

"I… I, um…" Serah tried, her eyes stinging as she fought to hold back the emotions. All she ever wanted in life was to bring the people she loved together. To see her friends rally around her in support of that goal made her heart nearly burst with joy. Simultaneously, it ached terribly at the absence of her sister.

_Light, there's a home waiting here for you. And it's almost perfect. Almost._

"It's… wonderful," she choked, beginning to sniffle. "I love you guys… so much…" The sniffles turned to full sobs, and she felt Hope react immediately as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, guiding her to one of the kitchen chairs. Snow plopped his massive frame down beside her in another chair and clamped his hands protectively around hers, but the others looked unsure about how to react to the breakdown.

She choked back another round of sobs and struggled to form a thin smile.

"Guys, it's okay – I'm fine, I promise."

Still, her friends couldn't manage more than half-hearted nods of acceptance, not until Yuj's voice cut through the silence when he declared awkwardly, "H-hey, I don't know about the rest of you, but I could go for some coffee!"

* * *

And just like that, everyone snapped back to life. Gadot helped Lebreau put on the coffee as Maqui produced a less-used rag from one of his pockets and handed it to Serah. She quickly wiped her face while Snow shielded her in a hug. Yuj shot Hope a look of alarm, his eyes darting back and forth from the coffee pot to his face as if to say, _Great goddess, it actually worked!_

Hope just shook his head. He couldn't care less if the coffee maker superstition was true, because he was busy watching Serah. She wore a smile under her puffy eyes that threatened to shatter his heart – and with it, his composure.

_Please… don't pretend you're okay for our sakes._

_I know what you're really thinking. I miss her, too._

The whole scene was a bit much for Hope to handle, what with Snow looking just as anguished as he felt over Serah's state, so he excused himself while everyone fussed over the coffee. He ran upstairs to the laundry room, locked the door behind him and slid to the floor, threading his fingers into his gritty hair and gripping the scalp.

"How…?" he groaned. _How can I fix this?_

Casting weary eyes around the room as he breathed in the comforting smell of detergent, he spied a worn spiral notebook lying on the churning washer. It took him a few moments to place where he'd seen it before.

_With Snow_, he remembered. He'd seen it in Snow's hands, in his rucksack, on missions, back in the clinic… just about anywhere the determined man went. Snow referred to it as his 'Survey Log,' but Hope knew he'd used it extensively during operations to locate Lightning as well. Who could tell what else he might have used it for? It was, after all, a personal notebook. One he would never have let out of his sight, had he not clearly been in a rush to put on the load of laundry and get back to the kitchen.

Hope jerked his hand back as if from a flame, not having realised he was reaching for the log. He glared at the brown cover of the spiral, taunting him with its secrets.

_I really know I shouldn't. I don't think Snow even lets Serah read this thing, so what gives me the right to snoop?_

He bit his lip, squirming with curiosity. Part of him thought it was fate that he'd stumbled upon Snow's notebook, just when he needed insight into the problems Serah had mentioned. The other part warned him not to be a wicked little sneak.

The need to know eventually won out. "Maybe just a few pages…" Hope muttered to himself. "I should return it to him anyway." He slowly cracked the notebook open to a halfway point, flipping past several older survey maps of sectors long since scoured. Finally, his fingers brushed a page containing a rough sketch of known Gran Pulse, sprinkled with landmarks that were mostly familiar to him – Cocoon, the Settlement, their rebel base, and Alpha, Bravo, and Charlie stations. But it also held many other numbered locations he could only assume were PSICOM outposts.

All but one of them had been scrawled over with an 'X.' Even stranger, the site marked number '3' had been crossed out multiple times, to the point that the pencil had torn through the page.

_Wow, he really didn't like that site. Would he dare to say why in writing?_

Hope turned the page. He was greeted with a numbered list, and he double-checked to make sure the numbers matched the supposed PSICOM outposts. Sure enough, there were nine total. Hope read on, his sharp green eyes committing every barely-legible, shorthand word to memory.

_1. Dev; neg fac; xmtr weak; no hack, sup. XX_

_2. Ctrl; pos fac; xmtr strong; hack, no res. X_

_3. Xfer; pos fac; xmtr ok; hack, files. XXXX_

_4. Dev; pos fac; xmtr ok; hack, unknown att._

At that, he stopped, quickly scanning down to see that every other number was a similar variation on the first three, with differing quantities of 'X' marks. The initial labels, he could easily guess, identified the type of outpost – Development, Control, or Transfer – and thanks to Maqui, he recognised the abbreviation for transmitter and knew about their 'hack' relay boxes. He was still unsure about the meaning of 'fac' being positive or negative and what the number of 'X' marks signified, though it was obviously important.

All things considered, sites 3 and 4 intrigued Hope. He flipped the page back and traced his finger to the dot labeled '4' – the only PSICOM site not yet eliminated from the list. He had been informed that the GC operation had narrowed its search to a single location a month ago, but to see it on a map, to travel the inches between them with his own eyes…

His heartbeat seemed to concentrate in his fingertip, pulsing against the paper.

_Are you here, Light? Will we find you after all, safe and sound?_

The rinse cycle rattled to a halt as Hope's heavy sigh ruffled the pages of the notebook, expelling his initial excitement. He wasn't naïve enough to bet on one hundred percent success without complications. The Corps leaders still intended to gather more supporting data on site 4 before they would dare to organise an infiltration mission. That could take weeks or months, and it would only be accomplished if continued surveillance didn't kill the entire plan first.

Besides, Hope had more immediate concerns to deal with. Something was definitely amiss about site 3, and that something was connected with Snow's recent behavior – Serah had identified the change after his mission. Settling in against the cool washing machine with the notebook, he thumbed through pages of dated notes until he landed on a short, scrawled bullet from early March that corresponded with the site 3 infiltration. It was a simple, cutting question:

_- If that __sicko__ wanted Hope so bad, why'd he use my Serah?_

Hope's eyes burned for lack of blinking when he saw how, just like with the 'X' on the map, Snow had angrily one-lined the word 'sicko' until the page tore. Slack-jawed, he stared back at his own name in the single note Snow had bothered to write after the findings from site 3, unable to wrap his head around it.

_The doctor who hurt Serah… was after me, specifically? I guess I can believe it, given PSICOM's track record, but Snow couldn't have found that in our operations report or Ann's summary. None of us knew that – I certainly didn't!_

Hope's brow furrowed, his mind racing to put the pieces together: the timing and content of the bullet, the abbreviated notes next to number 3 on the list, and Serah's suspicions that Snow discovered the facts of her experience in Central. When everything began to align, the disturbing implications seemed to tie Hope's innards into irreversible knots.

_The facts... _Hope envisioned pages tucked away in an innocent file among many confiscated from a Transfer site, on their way to permanent shuddered, remembering the last time an infiltration turned up files in transit – he'd been informed that his father was prisoner number 731, marked like a stock item at a grocery store.

Shaking his head, Hope's thoughts returned to the journey of site 3's spoils. He was familiar with the protocol. Shortly after the mission was complete, its leader would prepare for debrief – he would have to examine the files' contents.

And a PSICOM account would have _all_ the facts.

_Right in Snow's face._

"Maker, how much… _does _he know about…?" he gasped, feeling an icy, sickening sensation crawl over his skin.

Pounding on the door shook his attention, and Hope scrambled to his feet, closing the notebook that seemed to burn in his grasp.

"Hey," Snow's booming voice called. "You alright in there?"

He took a deep breath and unlocked the door. "Y-yeah."

One heavy heartbeat later, the knob turned and Snow squeezed into the room. He shut the door and leaned against it, his eyes bearing the weight of suspicion and fear as they glued to the spiral-bound log in Hope's hands.

Hope beat him to the punch. "Snow," he croaked, swallowing to appease his dry throat while offering up the notebook, "we have got to talk about this."

"What's there to talk about?" Snow muttered darkly, snatching the log. "You've obviously had a good look at my notes. You're smart enough to figure 'em out."

The already stifling temperature of the small room seemed to rise, causing the sweat to bead on Hope's forehead, but he knew that if he didn't speak up, his one chance could slip through his fingers. He took a quick step forward and reached past Snow to flip the lock into place.

"I'm not telepathic," he said shakily, flinching under the grip that trapped his arm to shove it back and the cold eyes that stabbed at him. Still, Hope pressed, "I can't read Serah's mind and I can't read yours, but I do know there's something wrong. Something changed after your last mission. Just tell me what you found out. Please…" His gaze had fallen to his boots, as he couldn't speak when faced with Snow's scrutinizing glare.

Hope heard Snow's frustrated sigh, followed by a thump as the large man sat on the floor.

"Hope," he said tiredly, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Listen, you made it pretty clear straight off that you're _well_ aware of everything Serah's been through, and I never did force you to tell me. Kinda decided to let the past lie…"

Hope sat cross-legged on the floor in front of him, resting his chin in his hands. His voice was quiet with dread. "I… think you know more than me, now."

Agony permeated every feature of Snow's face.

"Hope, why didn't you say something before?" he hissed. "Why'd I have to uncover a damned PSICOM file to find out that Serah was _tortured_?" His mouth twisted in pain and disgust as he uttered the word.

"I-I'm sorry," Hope stammered. "She just… wanted to forget it. All of it. She didn't want to relive whatever happened to her in there – wouldn't tell any of us the details, either. I mean, it was hard enough working through the recovery, with the nightmares and everything." A chill ran up his spine as he recalled those first few months, waking to frequent cries in the dark.

"Snow, I swear… I was afraid she might never go near medical equipment again."

_But she did it – for me, and for everyone else who needed her._

A large hand roughly mussed his hair, and Hope looked up into the face of true understanding. Snow steeled himself, sat back, and tightened his hands into fists.

He said plainly, "Not that I don't think you deserve the whole truth, but Hope, it's just so… so _twisted_ it makes me sick." Snow cut off as his confidence crumpled, catching his breath. With great effort, he cracked a pained smile.

"Mind if I keep this short?"

"Alright," Hope said, nodding his acceptance. It was far better than flat-out denial, and Snow did have a point.

Snow fixed his forcibly hardened eyes on Hope's soft green ones, scratching his head as he struggled against his regrouping emotions to begin.

"You remember that demon spawn in R&D who called himself a doctor? Well, I'm sure you already know that sicko did terrible things to Serah, but you probably didn't know that the whole time he did, he kept telling her…" he trailed off, his voice cracking.

A few unsteady breaths later, Snow finally pushed the words out. "He told her he wished it was _you_. And Serah… goddess, Hope… she killed him herself. She had some kind of reaction to one of the drugs he gave her – made her hallucinate, and she stabbed him with a scalpel in self-defense. I could tell that wasn't the whole reason, though. In the notes, from the way she kept mentioning how she needed to stop him… Hope, I think she killed him so he wouldn't _ever_ be able to hurt you."

Hope held his head, his pulse erratic under the spreading clamminess of nausea and an irrational fear, but information kept tumbling from Snow's mouth in a landslide.

"I just can't take it, Hope... how much pain she had to go through before she snapped like that. She was strapped naked onto a table in that freezing room for several _days_…" he choked, fighting for composure again. His eyes pleaded with Hope to understand, his horror reflected on the younger man's face. Hope couldn't believe how Snow was capable of holding it together. Impossibly, every single cell of his own being seemed to shudder with revulsion.

_That should've been me – I begged them to make an exchange! Serah, why'd it have to be…?_

Snow's harrowing account arrested his ears again. "That _bastard_ gave her every chemical under the sun and she screamed herself hoarse, but she was worried about _you_," he said through gritted teeth, near hysterical. "Damn it, Hope, she cried for you! I was right across the hall, and I couldn't even_ hear_ her! _Lightning_ couldn't hear her! No, she was screaming for _your_ help… clear across town…"

At that point, Snow actually lost it. He sobbed into his hands, his shoulders quaking so hard that Hope sprang to his feet in a panic, oblivious to the tears beginning to stream down his own face. He flipped open the washer lid, hastily dumping the wet laundry into the dryer and turning it on high. No one downstairs needed to hear or feel what was happening to their hero. Crisis averted by the roaring machine, Hope squatted against the dryer next to Snow, his vision a blurry mess as he listened to the strangled, foreign sounds coming from his unshakable brother.

_If Serah had called for him – if she'd only focused on Snow, would he have come right out of crystalstasis to save her? That night he woke up, I know he was the only thing on her mind. It can't be a coincidence._

_And for that matter, what if it had been me? If I'd cried out for Lightning…_

_No. I shouldn't be thinking like this._

"Snow," Hope said hoarsely, placing a tentative hand on his shoulder as the man's sobs petered out to hitched breaths, "all that terrible stuff… it's over. We shouldn't dwell on it. Serah's doing just fine, and she's with you – she loves you more than anything. But right now… she's worried because you haven't been yourself, lately."

After he swiped an arm over his face, Snow turned his red eyes toward Hope's ragged voice.

"She's worried about _me_?"

Hope scrubbed at his eyes, one corner of his mouth curling into a smile. "Yeah. She doesn't want you to beat yourself up about things in the past that you couldn't control. Trust me – when you're happy, she's happy."

"Heh, that's not entirely true, and we both know it," Snow muttered sadly. "She sure as hell isn't happy when you're not happy, either."

"Right," Hope said, blowing out a frustrated sigh as he stretched his numbing legs in front of himself. "I'm not arguing that. I'm just saying we're both gonna have to double our efforts to make sure she doesn't have any more reason to be upset or worried. She gets plenty of stress from the clinic cases alone."

Snow leaned his chin on his fists in thought. "Sounds like a plan. Even though I wish she didn't have to deal with that awful stuff either."

"Can't be helped. You take Serah's livelihood away, and the depression is even more awful," Hope explained, shoulders sagging under the weight of his memories. "Feeling useless is so much worse than having to deal with scary challenges at work. I say this from experience."

Nodding sagely, Snow rubbed his eyes again and exhaled. "So I've gotta clean up my act. Make sure Serah has more than enough reasons to be happy, yeah?"

"Absolutely. Besides, sad Snow is kinda dangerous," Hope said with a choked laugh. "That outburst could've shaken the house!"

"Yeah, well…" Snow muttered, giving a loud sniff, "at least I cry like a man."

"You insinuating that I don't?" Hope quipped. He rolled his watery eyes.

Whacking him on the back, Snow replied with a mischievous smirk, "Hope, you cry with your whole heart. You just happen to have the heart of a little boy."

"Hmph, think whatever you want. It's not like you're the expert on me," Hope said. He stood defiantly and stuffed his hands into his pockets, trying to ignore the needles of irritation brought on by the comment. "More importantly, there's one other thing I needed to ask." He fixed Snow with a look of determination.

"We've got to promise never to tell Light anything about what happened in R&D, agreed? I can't see her taking it very well, and Serah wouldn't want a repeat of this whole incident with you."

_That and Lightning might just wipe out all of PSICOM herself if she knew. At the very least, that captain who saved Serah deserves better – they can't all be like the doctor, deserving a painful death._

"You got it." Snow stood and held out his hand, which Hope shook firmly. "And speaking of Sis," Snow continued, "I've been meaning to ask you something."

_Maker, please tell me it's nothing too personal…_

There was no backing down – it would give him away even more, and Hope could already feel his cheeks prickling with heat. "What's that?" he managed, clearing his throat afterward.

Snow was sporting his aggravating grin that promised trouble. He asked coolly, "Do you think she's gonna recognise you – ya know, right when she sees you for the first time in five years?" He grabbed Hope's chin and turned his head from side to side.

"Of course!" Hope said incredulously, swatting Snow's hand away. "I mean, I've grown up a lot, but… I just don't think she misses anything. Not a single detail. She'll know me the minute she sees me."

Cocking an eyebrow over his smirk, Snow challenged, "Let's make it a bet, then. Five hundred gil says she won't recognise you in that first minute. Not without a little help. Sound fair?"

"You're on," Hope fired back, his eyes shining with confidence. "I just hope you know how long it's gonna take you to scrape up five hundred gil in this economy."

Snow chuckled as he pocketed his notebook and unlocked the door.

"Heh, less time than you, but I'm not aiming to lose." Snow stepped into the hall and started for the basement, but he didn't get three paces away before whipping around suddenly to face Hope again.

Startled, Hope hopped back toward the doorway. "What? Forget something?"

"Yeah…" Snow rubbed at his bandanna, trying to sound unaffected when he said, "I forgot to tell you yesterday, but since they've put me in charge of the, er… _eventual_ infiltration team for our final operation, I get to pick my pilot. And I gotta admit, I'm a little partial to BARTHOLOMEW anyway, so it was an easy decision. Just had to pull a few strings—"

Hope didn't let him finish. He barreled right into Snow and snared him in a hug, overwhelmed with gratitude.

"Thank you thank you thank you! I would've given _anything_ to fly this mission!" he spluttered, not caring that he sounded like a child with a golden ticket to Nautilus.

Laughing, Snow twisted him around in a choke-hold and rubbed a fist in his dusty hair. He shoved Hope away, toward the living room.

"Take a shower, and we'll call it even!"

* * *

Serah poured a perfect circle of pancake batter into the sizzling pan, humming to herself as she watched tiny pock-marks form in the goop. In the month she'd had to utilize her precious kitchen, this would be her first attempt at pancakes on the new stove, and she had every intention of making it spectacular. Her hand hovered with the spatula as she waited for that perfect moment to flip, when her communicator on the counter began to beep loudly.

"Ah!" she cried, hastily recovering from the initial surprise. She threw down the spatula and pot holder to scoop up the communicator anxiously.

"Well?" Serah asked, sliding a damp rag over the splattered counter as she spoke. "I hope you're calling with _good_ news, Snow."

A low chuckle crackling over the line made the tension in her chest release. "Would this hero ever let ya down? I found him alright – he was holed up in his precious bunker. It was a cinch."

"So… he's coming over for breakfast?" she asked quietly. She didn't breathe until he spoke again.

Still laughing to himself, Snow said slyly, "Heh, ask him yourself." Sounds of static and shuffling filled her ear as the communicator switched hands, and a soft sigh puffed into the other end of the line.

"Good morning, Sis," Hope said. Serah could hear the fatigue in his voice, and she was stunned to silence by a sudden rush of concerned thoughts.

_They've only got a few weeks left until the mission kicks off. He'd better not be working himself sick…_

Anything could have happened since Hope had last graced their home with his presence for the finale of _Operation Stovetop_, but that was beside the point. He had enough on his mind without worrying about her, too.

Shaking her head to empty the thoughts, Serah cleared her throat.

"It_ is _a good morning!" she chirped. "I really wanted to try my hand at pancakes in the kitchen, but I need a couple of hungry guys to chow down on them for me. Please say you'll come – I don't think even Snow can take this on alone!"

Hope sighed again, but a light laugh slipped out at the end of the breath. "Sure. How could I possibly turn down an offer to watch Snow eat himself into a coma?"

"That's good to hear," Serah said, grinning from ear to ear as much from relief as from amusement. "See you in a few, then."

"Yeah, see ya."

Empty static again. Serah cast the communicator aside and rushed back to her spatula, shrieking in anguish when she flipped the smoking batter to see its charred underbelly. She dumped it into the trash and started again, determined to turn out every last pancake a perfect golden brown.

It took her the better part of half an hour, but Serah achieved her goal. Two plates sat on the table, stacked high with miniature mountains of pancakes, streams of syrup cascading down their sides to pool at the base. Serah hoisted herself up onto the counter, swinging her legs and nibbling the edges of her own small pancake while she waited.

Finally, the sound of Snow's pounding footsteps reached her ears from the landing, and the lighter shuffle of Hope's feet joined Snow's on the stairs as they headed down to the basement. Snow gave Hope a playful shove into the room, laughing heartily as the younger man stumbled and shot a glare back at him.

"It's ready!" Serah announced, leaping off the counter with a sunny smile. She skipped across the room and caught Hope in a hug. He looked a certain measure of adorable in his rumpled coveralls, wild silver hair sticking out all over his head, but his fearful green eyes were fixed on the pancakes like _they_ might eat _him_.

Snow whacked him on the back. "Got your work cut out for you, huh?"

"You could say that," Hope choked. His nervous gulp was audible.

_You know, I think he really is afraid. Why is he treating this like an impossible feat of strength? I mean, I didn't give him nearly as many as Snow, and it's not like Hope hasn't _loved _pancakes for years._

Backing off a tad, Serah ushered him to one of the chairs. "Hey, it's okay if you can't finish the whole thing," she said sweetly.

"Yeah, Hope – it's perfectly fine if you give up," Snow teased, plunking down in the chair in front of his own massive plate of pancakes. He immediately set to work with his fork and knife. He cut out the first massive wedge of his stack and stuffed it into his mouth, somehow holding the smirk on his overloaded face.

Not for the first time, Serah could feel the heat radiating off the glare Hope aimed at her fiance. He removed his gloves slowly and set them aside, tightening slim fingers around his utensils.

"We'll see about that," he muttered.

Snow's answering snort shattered the tension, and they all laughed at the absurdity of the pancake challenge. As Hope carefully cut his first bite, he took a calming breath and looked up at Serah with his beautiful, uncertain smile.

"Thank you for breakfast."

_Are you thankful for the food, or for someone finally dragging you out of hiding?_

Serah felt instinctively it was both. Hope was clearly exhausted – his weary features and sluggishness the product of being overworked and very likely underfed. Like Snow, he hadn't stopped for a single day off in the midst of the projects and meetings since they'd gotten word that the infiltration mission was a go. But unlike Snow, he didn't live under her roof, where she could force him to eat and rest.

_Things have got to change, after this._

"Any time," Serah finally replied, her whole heart in the simple words.

* * *

_Not again, damn it…_

Groaning into the pillow, Hope rolled around for several seconds before he settled on his right side, staring through dark bangs at the clock on the utility cabinet. Piercing red numbers told him it was after three in the morning, all attempts at rest having failed since he hit the mattress at eleven o'clock. His mind was on overdrive about the mission just a few short hours away.

"Ugh, I can't do this…" Hope writhed in frustration until he'd thrown away the twisted sheet, jerking upright in the bed. The pumping of his heart was still unnaturally loud and fast, sensations like a caffeine high reproduced on pure adrenaline. He physically could not sleep – not with that level of anxiety.

His feet hit the floor, and he staggered through the dark to the shower. The chilly water splattering his flushed and sweaty skin felt soothing, but he knew, the second he shut off the valve, that it wouldn't be enough. He had to find some other strategy to sleep, or he would be in no condition to fly.

Wracking his brain for a solution, he swayed where he stood as the dry bunker air whisked the moisture from his body. Finally, Hope shook himself and got dressed. He wandered up the stairs and into the hangar, feet carrying him toward the open cargo bay of BARTHOLOMEW as if on a track.

_Today. She's going to be right here, on my ship, _he thought. Hope plopped down at the top of the ramp, seeking repose in the soft glow of phosphorescent strips inside the transport. He had checked every possible function of the aircraft so many times that he knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, nothing more could be repaired. The landing thrusters were overworn, but he couldn't fix that without replacement parts.

There was nothing to do but wait, obsessing over the flight path and the itinerary and whether Snow's team would meet unforeseen obstacles once inside the number four outpost. Reason told him, its insistent voice sharp against his skull, that he was an idiot for worrying over what was beyond his control, and further, that he knew full well tomorrow was the perfect day for an infiltration mission. The people of the Settlement – including all but bare bones manning for PSICOM – were observing two days of mourning and celebration in honor of Cocoon's fall and their own survival.

_I would've liked to join them. Guess there's something wrong about a former l'Cie taking part, though. If we had stayed in the Settlement, we'd probably be ritually burned on stakes as a main attraction. Not sure if it's a good or bad thing that PSICOM's too protective of Lightning to bring her out into the open._

Hope lay down, pressing his cheek to the cool metal panels. He could barely see past the end of the ramp in the darkness of the hangar, and his eyes began to play tricks on him. For one haunting moment, he could picture her – a glinting outline of her crystallized form, bright against the gloom beyond the ramp. He blinked and the image vanished, but the impression had been so strong that it left an afterglow behind his heavy eyelids. Not wanting to surrender his sanity to further hallucination, Hope refused to open his eyes again.

There, in the haze of would-be dreams that grasped at his stubborn consciousness with ephemeral fingers, Lightning visited him in her live, breathtaking form. She was free of the crystal, as beautiful as ever...

And watching him with her blue eyes ablaze.

"Hope," she demanded, "go to sleep."

* * *

**Endnote: Beta-roomie was battling yet another round of sickness, AND it is her birthday today (yay), but she finished up my draft so I could post. Here are a few of her fun comments for your enjoyment!**

**When Serah thinks about how Hope wanted plumbing supplies for his birthday: "hahaha NERD."**

**When Hope tells Yuj that he will let him know if his luck changes: "see: the previous/next story."**

**When Hope threw Snow's laundry into the dryer to cover the sound: "haha, always a problem solver"**

**When Snow said he cries like a man: "My tears are like acid rain that DESTROYS CITIES and can CURE CANCER and sh*t."**

**When Serah thinks about how things need to change for Hope: "Don't worry Serah, I think he just needs to get laid :P"**


	21. Epilogue: Always

**A/N: First off, ********DO NOT READ THIS EPILOGUE IF YOU HAVE NOT READ "REFLECTIONS" FIRST! IT WILL MAKE NO SENSE!******** *ahem* Well, THIS is nice and late, but I do hope it was worth the wait (rhyming totally unintentional) ^_^ I was away for a short bit, and beta-roomie had a busy spell, but we have finally come to the end of my prequel (even though this epilogue serves more appropriately as a prologue to the sequel, which is in the works). **

**I hope the wait for my update hasn't turned any readers off to the idea of my sequel piece, especially since it's pretty much plotted out now *pleads for support* I have to laugh at myself for the erratic ordering of my stories in their final setup, since they are meant to be read as "Always in Repair (original)" then "Believe in Yesterday (prequel) EXCEPT for its Epilogue" then "Reflections (one-shot post-AiR holiday fic)" then "BiY Epilogue" and finally "TBD (sequel)." Hmph. Guess I should apologise, but this is just so much fun! Please do REVIEW one last time, especially since I could use the feedback as I prep for the sequel XD**

Epilogue: Always (right there)

_This is unbelievable._

Lightning paced the hospital floor, her boots squealing against the waxy linoleum surface with every step. Passing the ficus marked the end of her seven-hundredth lap around the cramped waiting area. Pausing for only a moment, she sighed in frustration at the thought of her sister, cooped up with Snow for countless hours in the room just down the hall.

Naturally, 'delivery day' had arrived with a vengeance. With nine solid months to formulate a plan of action, they had anticipated every last detail and prepared accordingly, even going so far as to coordinate a special trip to the Settlement so Serah could be near the superior medical facility that had expanded from the old clinic and quarantine buildings. Her sister couldn't turn it down, either, when Hope insisted that making the journey was his one birthday wish, and she abandoned all subsequent protest once Lightning put her foot down. Hauling its strangest payload to date, the transport was loaded with rucksacks of baby supplies and a travel-proofed bassinet, which Hope had securely anchored to the floor and wall until more cable than bassinet was visible. Snow hadn't ceased with his teasing about the 'Baby Tank,' but other than that, things had gone as smoothly as could be expected.

What baffled the soldier _now_ was why she could not be with Serah during the actual childbirth. Why should it have mattered that she took her own sister's side when the swollen woman started to scream obscenities at her mortified husband? She could only speculate that the doctor was acting on some misguided notion of preserving Snow's dignity, since that couldn't have been faring well – not while Lightning shot him death glares for inadvertently causing Serah pain, and not while Hope defended both women's rights to say or do whatever necessary to cope. At any rate, the doctor had kicked both of the annoyed siblings out.

_Stupid doctor should've thanked us for supporting his patient._

Further aggravated by her thoughts, Lightning blinked before her glower could disintegrate the silk ficus leaves and resumed her pacing at a faster clip.

"You're just pissed that I get a baby for my birthday, aren't you?" Hope said tiredly from his curled up position across two of the cushioned chairs. He unfolded himself, stretching as he got to his feet. In the dim lighting of the maternity ward, Lightning barely caught the smile on his face.

"At least now I know what to get you for yours."

She came to a sudden halt, crossing her arms over her chest as she narrowed her sharp eyes skeptically. "Oh? What's that?"

Padding softly forward, Hope's grin only grew wider as he reached her, unfazed by her hostile aura. He slipped his hands from his pockets to settle them loosely on her waist, and Lightning steeled herself for the inevitable. She still couldn't gauge his every expression, but the dreamy way he watched her merited suspicion, given the circumstances. He had been so on-board with Serah's pregnancy from the beginning that his enthusiasm rivaled Snow's, only growing stronger as the big day approached. Lightning counted herself lucky to have dodged, deflected or danced around the topic of children thus far, but it was only a matter of time.

_Now I'm in for it. He's finally going to bring this up, isn't he? Stupid Light – you _know_ he likes kids. That idiot Snow's given him baby fever, and we aren't even married yet! _

The very thought of being pregnant made her queasy, and all of the hairs on her neck prickled in a strange mixture of fear and anticipation as he leaned in next to her ear, whispering sweetly, "You need a pedometer."

Lightning froze in confusion as she processed his words. Useless rebuttals and complaints were stuck between her head and throat, and she had no idea where to even begin sorting them out. General irritation bubbled up in her chest.

She balled her hand into a fist and punched Hope in the diaphragm, just hard enough to make him catch his breath.

"Don't scare me like that," she hissed, supporting his shoulders as he gasped for air.

Hope shook himself, and when he lifted his silver head again, his features twitched like he wanted to burst out laughing. Instead, he held her face and left a light, lingering kiss on her lips.

"I know what you're thinking," Hope said, kissing her forehead as if to punctuate his words, "but I'm barely twenty-two, Light – twenty-two years, one hour and forty-three minutes old, to be exact. I'm not in any hurry to be a father."

_Thank the goddess._

Breathing out the tension, Lightning pulled him in and rested her face in its favorite spot, pressed into the worn fabric of his long-sleeved undershirt and the soft skin of his neck. "That's good. It's hard to warm to the idea when I can hear Serah pushing out some melon-headed mini-Snow in there."

She felt the rumbling in Hope's throat and chest as he chuckled, trailing one hand up to rub circles below her shoulder blade. The next thing she knew, he was leading her over to the lone couch.

"I'm sure it's not _that _extreme, Light," he murmured. "She was just freaked out by the contractions – n-not that I blame her. I can't even imagine…"

It seemed the instant they sat, a shrill cry echoed down the hallway. Lightning shot up to her feet, prepared to bolt. She would've made it if Hope hadn't caught her arm, and she spun around angrily to order her release.

Even in the darkened room, the glassy sheen of concern in his eyes silenced her.

_He's worried for her. Maybe even more worried than me. Why did I say those things?_

One tense moment later, the slam of a door reverberated down the hall, followed by the heavy thud of approaching footsteps. Snow's hunched figure came into view at the edge of the seating area, and the large man immediately collapsed into the nearest available chair. He tugged the bandanna from his head and rested his forehead on his fists, apparently unwilling to communicate more than a tired sigh.

"What's going on?" Hope asked immediately. He fixed his anxious eyes on Snow, entwining his fingers with Lightning's for support as he urged her to sit. Feeling how cold his hands had become, she couldn't help but think fear was as much to blame as the absence of his gloves. She gave up, settling in beside him on the couch.

Snow looked over at the two of them, and Lightning was immensely relieved to see only weariness in his features. He was not fearing for Serah's life.

"She's been in labor too long," he explained, cracking his neck with a groan. "Doc said the baby's not in a good position, and it's not lookin' like it will be any time soon. They're gonna do a C-section."

Lightning snorted in sudden amusement, imagining the ass-backward child that was clearly taking after its father. "Hmph, can't say I'm surprised."

Both men gave her grim looks.

"Light, it's not really a laughing matter," Hope said, his voice almost wounded.

She allowed a tiny smile and carefully explained, "There's nothing to worry about. Serah probably would've had more complications from natural birth, so this is good news. I've been stressing out for hours, wondering if she even stood a chance at delivering that giant-spawn. Now I know it will all go smoothly."

Hope glanced over at Snow for confirmation, seeing relief flood the very much concerned husband's face. "Did the doctor say that, too?" he asked.

"Yeah, somethin' like that," Snow replied, scratching his head and yawning. "I was still pretty worried – doctors will say whatever's easiest to take when they're trying to keep patients calm. But hearing it from Sis makes me believe it. She doesn't just buy into empty promises, ya know?"

Blushing at the compliment and glad for the darkness, Lightning just coughed. Anything she might have said would only have made Snow talk longer as he argued his point.

_And I hate to admit it, but he's spot-on about me this time._

Hope turned back to her, smiling shyly. "Yeah, I know." She felt her body warming under that gentle green gaze, instantly uncomfortable about the change in chemistry while her brother-in-law sat just a few feet away from them. Realistically, she knew there was no possible way Snow could sense the pleasant twist in her abdomen or the itch of her hands to misbehave, but that didn't make her feel any less out of line.

_Right. Isn't this the same kind of temptation that landed my sister in the hospital with a melon-head trying to free itself?_

Fighting the shudder that ran down her spine, Lightning cleared her throat and pointedly faced Snow again.

"So, since we're banished out here until the operation is over, any suggestions on how to pass the time?" she asked. "We got coffee about an hour ago, and I don't think I could sleep knowing what Serah's going through, anyway."

_Not unless I had a little help from Hope, and that is _definitely_ not happening on a couch in the maternity ward. I may not be superstitious, but that's just tempting fate._

Hope gave her hand a reassuring squeeze and said, "I'm not sleeping, either – I'll have nightmares after seeing Sis like that."

"I'm sure you two can make it forty more minutes," Snow replied with another huge yawn, this time loud enough to have woken anyone in a twenty meter radius, which thankfully meant no one. He managed a lopsided grin. "Heh, I know what you oughtta do. This is a really special day for Serah, so why not talk about some happy memories? She wouldn't want us all so worked up that we can't be excited for her." Pausing, he rubbed his stubbly chin in thought while the other two considered his proposal.

They all sat in silence for a couple of minutes before Snow suddenly jerked upright, clearly on the verge of a breakthrough. "Hey Hope, I bet you never told Sis about the first time you met Serah. Why not fill her in?"

"That doesn't really qualify as a 'happy' memory," Hope quietly remarked. He slouched down low enough to rest his head on Lightning's shoulder, wayward tufts of his hair tickling her cheek. "I suppose it's a good place to start, though. We did have some fun times back at the shelter."

"A'right then, my work here is done," Snow announced, wearily rising to his feet to return to Serah's room. "I'll see you kids in a little bit, and we can all meet Snow Villiers, Junior!" He waved over his shoulder as he walked away, leaving Lightning to groan at the ridiculous baby name and Hope to snicker at her annoyance. She wasn't really concerned, though, since her sister was sure to shut down any particularly awful names, and they didn't know if it would be a boy or girl yet. Snow had just been gunning for a baby boy from the get-go – he'd made sure _everyone_ knew where he'd cast his lot.

_Hmph, arrogant man. I don't want to think about this anymore._

Lightning turned her face to Hope's hair, breathing in the story of a very long thirty-six hour period – hints of her shampoo mingled with the transport's metallic tang and the freshness of autumn drizzle from the afternoon, all permeated by his usual musky scent. They had travelled a thousand miles, taken every precaution with Serah, drunk innumberable cups of coffee, and waited on pins and needles to see the fruits of their labors. But in _this_ moment, Lightning was happy with her five-second fix. As excited as she was for her sister and Snow with their imminent 'new baby' joy, she still didn't understand why they needed something beyond each other. She didn't need a mini-Hope to make her feel complete.

_I just want to go home and curl up in bed, right now…_

"Light?" His voice vibrated against her shoulder, snapping her from the moment of bliss. She could hear the amusement in his tone.

"Hm?"

"Would you _like_ to hear about the day I met our sister?" he asked.

Sighing, she let go of her prior thoughts and muttered, "Sure."

* * *

Hope leaned forward and sandwiched his hands between his knees, unsure how to interpret Lightning's impassive silence once he finished the tale of his first twenty-four hours with Serah.

_Maybe she wants to get on my case about making her sister sit in the mud. Or maybe she's just thinking about the best way to get even with Maqui for introducing me to coveralls…_

Thankfully, neither of them could spare the time to dwell on it when a piercing, foreign wail rang down the hall. Hope's heart gave a little leap, giving him pause while Lightning reacted and grabbed his arm, half-dragging him at a near-run toward Serah's room. She barged right in, not bothering to knock.

The curtain blocking their view disoriented Hope, but one of the nurses soon emerged from behind the cloth. She shook her head and cracked a smile at their wild-eyed expressions, waving them over.

"Haven't slept a wink, I see," she remarked, and after a very long minute or so of monitoring glances inside the blocked area, she began to roll the curtain completely back. Hope's eyes instantly landed on Serah, Lightning tugging him forward when his feet refused to comply. Reason told him that the doctor's untroubled demeanor was a good sign, but he needed to see that his sister was fine with his own eyes. He could feel how Lightning had suddenly gone rigid beside him, likely staring at the same unnerving sight that he was.

_That's… a lot of blood,_ he thought, and he forced his focus away from the stained sheets and up to Serah's face before it could make him sick.

Dark circles standing out below glazed blue eyes betrayed her fatigue, but Serah smiled wanly at Snow as he clamped onto her hand. Nearby, a nurse hovered over the whimpering newborn, cleaning it up and checking vitals, so Hope didn't concern himself with that for the moment. He pulled his somewhat stiff fiancee along, squeezing past the monitors and table of instruments to stand at Serah's other side. He captured the limp fingers of her left hand in a gesture of comfort, overjoyed when she turned her gaze toward them.

"Sis," he said softly, "you are the bravest person I know."

After a very weak giggle, she replied, "We'll see how brave I am… once this medication wears off." Shifting her eyes away, past Snow and toward the nurse, she asked almost inaudibly, "Can I hold him, now?"

"Just a moment, dear," the nurse said, apparently wrapping the baby in a thin green blanket. They could see very little past her purple scrubs.

"It's a boy?" Lightning asked abruptly, regaining the ability to speak, and all eyes turned to Snow's beaming expression. Hope had expected to see his usual grin, so impossibly wide and overconfident that it could induce an entire room of people to face-palm, but that wasn't the case. The new father was certainly smiling, but he had a look of awe about him that Hope couldn't begin to describe.

And that expression only intensified when the nurse finally delivered the newborn into his mother's arms, instructing Snow to help support her weakened limbs until the regional anesthetic wore off. Hope's eyes were glued on the infant's wrinkly, ruddy face, and on the fuzzy shock of pale, matted hair; he couldn't help but notice how the baby had quieted down to issue gurgling sounds of contentment once Serah caught him in her gentle hold. Mouth agape, Hope stood in utter amazement when a tiny fist wriggled free to punch the air.

_Snow's kid, no doubt about it._

Blinking away the tears in his eyes, he breathed a happy sigh.

"Guys, this is the best birthday present I will _ever_ have."

* * *

Lightning was assaulted with a wave of emotions as she watched her little sister and Snow swaddle the miniature person they'd brought into being. Her throat closed up, unable to express her thoughts.

_Serah, why did you have to grow up so fast? I was there when _you_ were born, I helped you ride your first bike, and I chaperoned your first date… Goddess, I remember how terrified you were when your cycle started, and here you are having a baby!_

Zeroing in on the infant in question, she couldn't quite catch the appeal – newborns were more misshapen than cute, not that she put much stock in appearances, and they embodied vulnerability to a gut-wrenching degree. Nonetheless, she could sense the glow of happiness around his parents, the love they were all sharing that had washed over Hope at her left. He looked just as overjoyed, smiling like he'd seen the sun for the first time.

_That's right, I doubt you've ever seen a birth before. You didn't have siblings, but… does this make you think about your mother? _

Tentatively clasping her fingers onto his arm as she mused over what he must be thinking, Lightning felt a small bundle of warmth beginning to grow within her chest in spite of herself. It occurred to her that the half-sleeping boy in Serah's arms already held more adoration for his mother than the rest of them combined, and he didn't even know her name.

In fact, he didn't need to know. His trust was unconditional and unbreakable. While that baffled Lightning on some deep level, poking at her sensitive personal issues, the knowledge of his love for her sister gave her a newfound respect.

_I can't call him melon-head anymore._

"Serah," she said, her voice uncharacteristically wavering, "what should we call him?"

Serah's glistening eyes flitted up to her sister, and she hummed for a moment in contemplation. Fixing her gaze back on the infant, she said with quiet conviction, "I think 'Milo' would be perfect."

Cautiously trying to coax the baby's fist to grasp his finger, Snow looked up with raised brows. "I didn't know 'Milo' was on your list, babe," he remarked. "I mean, it's not a bad name, but I thought you were kinda set on 'Jack' – y'know, after your dad."

"You're right, it wasn't on the list," Serah said, her face serene. "It's just another form of 'Miles.' I never did mention it before, but that's Colonel Sabin's first name."

"You're on a first-name basis with PSICOM's director?" Lightning asked in disbelief. She was getting tired of being caught off guard by every new development since entering the hospital – or, admittedly, since entering Hope's transport years ago – but she tried to hide her annoyance behind a blank mask, fingering the hem of her loose-fitting sweater with her free hand.

Serah delicately kissed the baby on his forehead. "Well, I met Miles when he was just a captain," she explained. "He worked with the Corps on a couple of operations right before the forces divided, even though it was a serious risk – you couldn't help but appreciate his sense of justice. I guess… I want our son to be like that."

Lightning nodded her silent understanding. While she didn't know the colonel personally, she had to admit that he was respectable, and the name itself was pleasant enough. Beside her, Hope had begun to absently toy with the baby's foot that kicked under the blanket, a question in his eyes that never passed his lips. He quickly came to himself when Lightning tightened her grip on his arm, and he pecked her cheek before facing Serah and the baby again.

"'Milo,' hm? It fits. I can't think of better reasons for choosing a name," he said at length, clearly still distracted by lingering thoughts.

With typical enthusiasm, Snow volunteered, "I second that! Give him a meaningful name, and he's got a head start on doin' some good for the world. Wouldn't you say so, Hope?"

Hope's shaky laugh held a mix of pride, embarrassment, and barely detectable sadness in it. Even if she hadn't known him as long as Snow or Serah, Lightning could tell the others hadn't noticed the extra weight behind his reaction.

_My Hope… Still convinced you haven't done the name justice? _she wondered. When he spoke, she had no doubt.

"I think you could spend a whole lifetime trying to live up to a good name," Hope offered, the clouds in his eyes clearing as he watched the baby yawn. His smile returned at the gesture, and he continued with a more lighthearted approach. "Let's not pressure little Milo too much. He's half you and half Serah, so the kid's pretty much set with genes for greatness… and trouble."

That remark set all of them laughing, the happy chorus only disrupted when the nurse in the room cleared her throat.

"Sorry to interrupt, but Mrs. Villiers, do you feel up to nursing?" she asked politely. "It's not absolutely necessary right now, I just know a lot of mothers like to start as soon as possible—"

"Of course," Serah cut in with her faint voice, the sudden brightness in her eyes belying her state of exhaustion. She lived and breathed meeting the needs of others, and meeting the needs of her own child took it to a whole new level.

Lightning shifted her stance uncomfortably, eager to leave the room before everything became awkward, and Hope's flushed face was a clear indication that he felt the same. Observing the change, Snow glanced back and forth between them with a knowing smirk.

"Damn, you guys are two of the most self-conscious people I know," he remarked, snorting as he waved them away. "But hey, I'd rather have some alone time with my wife and kid anyway, so it's all good. Just behave yourselves, alright?"

With a loud huff, Lightning rolled her eyes at her insufferable brother-in-law and refused to acknowledge his presence any longer, gently reaching out to brush back her sister's sweaty bangs.

"I'll make him pay if he gives you any trouble while I'm gone," she promised, earning a giggle for her effort.

Hope leaned down and kissed the top of Serah's head. "Love you, Sis. Get some rest, okay?"

"Okay," she promised. Lightning could feel her warm smile on their backs while they walked out, the hallway outside abruptly chilled once the door closed them off, as if the Villiers family formed a lit hearth within the room. Staring dully toward the vacant waiting area, she rubbed at her arms to drive away the sensation.

Another pair of arms immediately encircled her from behind.

"How are you still cold?" Hope said at her ear, his breath teasing against her skin. "You nabbed my warmest sweater, wardrobe raider."

Lightning gave a short, hollow laugh. "I'm not cold – not anymore. But, I…"

…_I feel empty. For the first time in my life, I've got zero sisterly wisdom to offer Serah. I can't even wrap my head around this mess of relationships and how all of it requires investing your soul in another person, but it's like second nature to her. To me, it was terrifying enough to give in… even for _you_._

"Hope," she nearly whispered, leaning back against him, "How does Serah do it?"

Slowly, he turned her around in his embrace, his eyes searching her expression so intently that he might as well have left the question unsaid.

"How does she do what?"

"How… can she…" Lightning stammered, fisting small wads of his shirt as she fought for words. "How can she… give herself away that easily? This baby—I mean, _Milo_ is going to depend on her for everything, demand all of her love and effort for the rest of her life, and she seems more than happy about it. What's going to happen to the work she loves to do? And isn't she worried at all that he might disappoint her, turn out to be rebellious or lazy, or…? Tch, I don't understand."

"Yes you do," Hope countered. "You've never put conditions on the people you love, and you'd be disappointed if Serah did that to our little nephew." She bristled at his self-assurance, not finding a trace of doubt in the smile that she briefly wanted to slap off his face, but she refrained if only to hear his explanation.

Lightning narrowed her eyes and said sarcastically, "Is that a fact? What, have you and Maqui cooked up some telepathy device now? I'm not exactly the open book in this relationship."

As much truth as she knew those words to hold, the way his eyes burned into hers gave her a twinge of unease that things had changed on that account. She knew, on some level, that her heart was in his hands, but she hadn't expected to _feel _it soften as he held it. For one rare, skin-crawling moment, Lightning worried that her poker face might break under the pressure of his gaze. Her eyes flitted down to his lips, watching him speak instead.

"Maybe so, but you're not that complicated. If tearing down Cocoon for your sister's sake isn't proof that you _understand_ self-sacrifice, I'm sadly mistaken about the bonds of love in action," Hope stated, his soap-box voice faltering awkwardly when he bit his lip and tried to rephrase. "Look, I mean… just don't worry about feeling lost. This isn't worth getting worked up over right now."

Prying her fingers free of him, Hope stepped back and fished his hands in his pockets. The clink of metallic objects made Lightning's ears perk up, and she momentarily forgot her frustration and swallowed whatever biting retort wanted to form. Hope's mouth twisted into a playful smirk as he held his keyring aloft.

"Care to join me?" he asked, pressing the keys into her palm and closing her fingers around them. Lightning was far from fooled by his innocent words – not when she could see emerald-tinted flames licking at his irises.

One corner of her lips twitched up. "Whatever you want, birthday boy."

_Just please… Take my mind off all of this._

* * *

_She has to be… some kind of goddess… _

Stars were still swimming across his vision as Hope flopped onto his back. His thoughts would certainly have earned him a look of disdain from the woman stretched out on the bedroll beside him, equally unwilling to reposition her limbs as her ragged breathing matched his own. He couldn't help it – the haze of glorious exhaustion only made Lightning seem more surreal under the solar lamp's light. It mapped her every contour in violet shadow and cast her pale, shimmering skin in the same stark contrast to the mechanical space as the moon against a midnight sky.

_But_ _she isn't cold and distant like that, and certainly not silent._ Sudden heat threaded its way up his spine at the minute-old echoes ringing in his ears. He made a mental note to put the extra effort into synchronizing with her more often.

"Hope," she panted, a note of complaint in the syllable, "if you ever… do _that_… in some less secure location… you'll regret it."

"You're… welcome."

Lightning finally let her head roll sideways to face him, glaring half-heartedly in an attempt to emphasize her threat. Honestly, the expression just added to her appeal, and Hope grinned sleepily at the sight of it.

Somehow mustering the strength to move, he shifted onto his side, reaching over and toying with her navel ring. "What are you so worried about?"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe _disturbing_ people," she muttered, her flushed face contradicting the heavy sarcasm.

Hope puffed out a short, airy laugh, leaving off the piercing to trace his finger along her lips. "I couldn't care less if someone's 'disturbed.' But if you think it's a problem, I suppose I could cover your mouth."

_Though it's definitely not my preference._

"As if you'd have a free hand," Lightning quipped. She rolled her eyes, a smirk spreading over her face that mirrored his own, and he adjusted the tracing path of his finger accordingly.

"Easy fix," he countered. "I'd use my mouth."

Sighing in exasperation, she arrested his hand and kissed the fingertips. "Better uses for that, too. You up for a reminder?"

"Light..." Hope buried his face in his folded arm for a moment, groaning at the predicament in which he found himself. He was fairly sure every muscle in his body was overexerted, and it was taking more and more concentration to not surrender to the fog of sleep that wanted to shroud his mind.

_Maker, I don't want to turn her down…_

Hope felt her cool hands brush over his heated face and tangle in his hair, amplifying the inner turmoil, but to his surprise she just maneuvered closer and pulled the blanket up over them both.

"I wasn't serious," Lightning murmured, nestling her head against his shoulder and outstretched arm. He gave her a questioning look, but her blue eyes were soft with understanding. "It's your birthday, and believe me… you deserve a break."

_I don't think I'll ever deserve any of this, but I am definitely not complaining._

* * *

The beep of a communicator didn't so much wake Lightning as aggravate her. She hadn't truly been able to get to sleep, but she had finally managed to curl into a cozy position in the crook of Hope's arm once he rolled onto his back. The mechanical space was chilly with the transport powered down, and she groaned at the thought of leaving her warm spot to answer the call.

_Whose comm is it anyway?_

Lightning kept as much of her body under the heavy blanket as possible while rummaging through the pockets of every article of their clothing strewn around. Her hand finally landed on the vibrating device in Hope's coveralls, and she flipped it open.

"H-hello?" she mumbled roughly, snuggling back down next to Hope as her skin prickled from exposure.

"Sis?" The sound of Snow's apprehensive voice made her jolt up, propped on her elbows and heedless of the cold.

"You woke me up," she huffed. "What's going on?"

"You mean you don't know? How could you miss a city-wide blackout?" he asked in total disbelief.

Lightning sighed heavily into the phone, sitting up completely and pinching the bridge of her nose as her hair splayed messily over both shoulders. "Look, is Serah alright?"

"Yeah, she's just freaked out and worried about you guys," Snow said tiredly. "I called to make sure everything was okay. Where the hell are you?"

"The transport," was her curt reply.

Snow's muffled snort crackled over the airwaves. "I take it Hope's down for the count."

"You expected less from me?" Lightning jibed, hoping to shock him into silence.

It didn't quite work. Laughing outright, Snow had to take a few moments to collect himself before he finally demanded, "Listen, I don't care if you've gone and put him in a coma, you'd better get him up and get yourselves back here. Serah doesn't need to be worrying herself when she oughtta be sleeping."

_Ugh. This is going to be a challenge._

"Fine," Lightning said flatly. "Tell her we're on our way." She snapped the device closed and forced herself to remain upright in the cold, gripping her scalp as she silently bemoaned her decision to refrain from going on the aggressive herself. Realistically, she knew Hope wouldn't have allowed it – once the stubborn man got his one-track mind set on a goal, especially if that goal was personal to _her_, he was unshakable.

_Speaking of unshakable…_

Taking him by the shoulders, Lightning rattled Hope's sleeping frame like a ragdoll, but all she got for her trouble was a soft snore. Hope simply rolled onto his side and snuggled against the nearby warmth of her leg.

"Hope," she commanded, ripping the blanket off him, "you _have_ to wake up."

Her voice seemed to only make him press in closer, wrapping one arm around her waist as he shivered under the chilly air. The thought crossed her mind that she had supplanted his favorite pillow as his object of comfort, and despite herself, Lightning felt a stab of guilt for being so harsh.

She automatically ran her fingers through his hair and down his neck, drawing sudden inspiration when Hope reflexively kissed her thigh.

_Maybe I can work with this._

Sliding down in his arms again, Lightning gently rocked him onto his back and covered him with her own heat, her mouth, hands and hips finding familiar purchase along the plane of his body. A sharp intake of breath rapidly bled into a low moan, and she raised herself up to watch Hope's eyelids flutter open.

"I-I thought," he slurred, clearly still dazed, "you weren't serious…"

Lightning shook the bangs out of her darkened eyes, grinding her hips for extra emphasis. "You sleep like the dead – had to wake you up_ somehow_."

"Not that I-I don't, um… appreciate it…" Hope stuttered between broken breaths and sporadic demands for his mouth to do anything besides talk, "but why exactly did you _have_ to—"

She caught him in a particularly drawn-out kiss, sucking away the evidence from his lower lip before sitting back to casually explain, "Snow called – said something about a city-wide blackout."

"What?" Hope gasped, bright eyes flashing in alarm. He pushed himself up instantly, and Lightning nearly fell backward before she felt his arms envelop her in position on his lap, his heart pounding through layers of skin and muscle between them. "Sorry, but that… sounds like an emergency situation. Wh-what did he want us to do? Are Serah and the baby okay?"

Burying her face in his neck, Lightning blew out what remained of her drive in an exasperated sigh. "She's worried about us," she begrudgingly admitted. "Let's just go, before Snow calls again." The writing was on the wall for the rest of their night. Rather than waste more time, she eased herself off him and climbed over the bedroll on her hands and knees, deliberately grabbing the gray sweater of his first and tugging it over her head.

"You know," Hope began, his disheveled hair and cheeky grin coming into view once she forced her head through the neck of the sweater, "you look so amazing in all my clothes, I was thinking… maybe we could switch it up. I could take a turn with the sweater and have the pleasure of seeing you in my favorite outfit."

Lightning paused mid-crawl in the search for her bra, craning her head around to level a flat stare at him. "I am _not_ running around in oversized coveralls, and it's physically impossible to fit that ass of yours into my jeans, genius." Barely a heartbeat later, Hope collapsed in spasms of laughter, flipping over onto his stomach in what struck her as an excellent gesture of support for her argument.

_Wouldn't have it any other way._

"Hope," she groaned, unable to suppress a smirk as she hurled his boxers at his head. "Clothes! Now!"

* * *

Crossing the Settlement along its near pitch-black streets was unsettling to say the least. Hope felt none of the giddiness of their trip from the hospital, when he had savored the warm tingle of anticipation that fought off the bite of autumn. At that time he and Lightning could easily see their way to the warehouse district from the original clinic's entrance by the scattered lights of windows alone. But now, they were lucky to see the uneven path directly in front of them, blundering along hand in hand by the faint light of Cocoon's soft glow to the north.

Scuffling sounds, hushed voices, and the shift of even darker shadows against the deep blackness alerted them to the presence of ever-diligant sentries on patrol. Hope shuddered in spite of himself, mentally ticking through reminders that PSICOM was no longer the enemy, that Lightning was well-prepared to kill just about anything whether or not she was armed, and that the presence of other military personnel should make him feel safer, not creeped out.

"Afraid of the dark, scaredy cat?" Lightning whispered in his ear, and Hope jumped in place, his eyes darting in every direction around them.

All the breath whooshed from his lungs, allowing him to suck cool air back in to calm his pulse. He released Lightning's hand in favor of pulling her to his side, and in the gloom and relative absence of prying eyes, she put up no resistance, even wrapping her arm around the small of his back.

"It's not the dark…" he muttered, his brow creasing at the sudden realisation that something did legitimately feel off. "Is it just me, or do these sentries not even seem surprised that the whole city shut down?"

Lightning sighed beside him. "You never stop asking questions." She pulled him along toward the nearest shadowy figure, tapping the sentry on the arm.

"Excuse me, Corporal?" she began, hopping back nimbly as the surprised man's assault rifle swung toward them. His rank glowed red on his left shoulder.

"O-oh, my apologies." He lowered the weapon and immediately advised, "I'm afraid I must ask you both to leave the streets. All civilians need to remain in their homes until power is restored. It should be within the hour, going by the last incident, but we've already got our hands full scouting for monsters."

Hope felt Lightning stiffen defensively at his side, and he automatically dropped his hold around her. "I'm not a civilian," she said curtly, stepping forward. "And what do you mean by the 'last incident'?"

Cocking his head, the sentry inquired, "Your rank and service, miss…?"

"Sergeant First Class Lightning Farron, Guardian Corps." Shoulders back and chin higher than before, Lightning really did look the part despite her lack of uniform. Still, when Hope focused on the rumpled gray sweater she wore and allowed his mind to travel back to their most recent intimate moments, it was hard not to grin like an idiot. He brought a cautious hand to his mouth.

_Maker, she can pull off just about anything on demand. Talk about driven._

"Is that enough rank for me to get an answer?" the Lightning asked, her left eye twitching impatiently as she crossed her arms.

The sentry nodded and hastily plowed onward. "Y-yes, Sergeant Farron. I meant no disrespect, not toward you or your service to Cocoon. When I mentioned the last incident, I assumed you were both citizens here who already knew about that, but…" He cut off suddenly, whipping his head toward Hope as if seeing him for the first time. "Wait, that means you must be—"

"Just Hope, please," Hope said amicably, offering his hand to the stunned sentry. The man had frozen in place, and once he finally processed the outstretched hand in front of him he shook his head from the daze.

Growling to herself, Lightning muttered, "Gonna leave him hanging, Corporal?"

With another short nod, the sentry gave Hope's hand a firm shake. "S-sorry, Mr. Estheim—er… Hope. What brings you to the Settlement?"

"Well, it's my birthday," Hope replied with a casual shrug, checking his watch, "and my sister had a baby about… four hours ago."

"Ah, well, congratulations," the sentry rattled off as he clumsily released his grip. "To the Villiers, that is. A-and happy birthday, sir. I'm sure you could have informed the command for a formal reception."

_Heh, looks like all the colonel's invites are making an impression on the rank and file. That's an interesting development._

Hope smiled sheepishly, a tad embarrassed but honestly enjoying the attention. "Thanks, but I like to keep birthdays in the family." It really never occurred to him that enough time had passed since the armistice for him to have gained a _positive _reputation within PSICOM.

The impatient tap of Lightning's boot on the gravel became noticeably louder, drawing the attention of both men. "This is all very touching," she remarked, "but can you please explain to us how the Settlement happens to be having repeat blackouts?"

"I wish I could," the corporal said in resignation. "This is the third time we've suffered a power outage in the last couple of years, which makes no sense when you consider that Cocoon's dormant energy is the source. And look," he said, gesturing at the crystal sphere's luminescent surface. "She's still burning as bright as ever."

Hope scratched his head as he stared at the obvious glow of what amounted to the Settlement's planet-scale battery. He'd heard enough of Maqui's geeky rants over the ingenuity of PSICOM's energy system – probably the one allowance of credit toward PSICOM the mechanic had ever given – to know the basics behind it. Yet, Hope had to admit that he accepted their reliance on a crystallized moon with a level of skepticism that was steadily approaching the distrust he attributed to Cocoon's reliance on the fal'Cie. He found it too good to be true. The premise was far too simple and too similar to Cocoon's system for his liking: take a concentrated source of alien power with unknown limits, regulate it, channel it, and utilise it. The only difference, in his own estimation, was the lack of sentience behind the power.

Of course, in the eyes of PSICOM and the displaced population, that was precisely the point. What more appropriate way to build their new lives in the wake of Cocoon's landing than on the millions of frozen fal'Cie who had wished the doom of mankind? Invariably, anyone with cursory knowledge of lore would say that fallen fal'Cie, even presumed dead, did not simply relinquish their power. Crystalstasis rewarded l'Cie, but it punished their already immortal masters with an eternity of worthless solitude – at least, that was the general theory. Hope recalled, personally, the passing of Anima which rippled out to encapsulate the Pulse Vestige, washing over Lake Bresha in an explosion of energy. He could only speculate that Cocoon's denizens of fal'Cie met a similar end.

Hope had to catch his breath when that thought dredged up the image of Fang and Vanille, frozen in the pillar supporting the moon-sized graveyard of demi-gods and citizens alike. He wondered if they were aware of the disconnect in power, or if they somehow, impossibly, had a hand in it—

"Excuse me, sir?" The sentry's perplexed voice called Hope back to reality, and he mentally tucked his bundle of hatchling theories to the back of his mind for later consideration. Rubbing at his messy hair, he cracked an apologetic smile.

Lightning just stared at him, clearly trying to ferret out the meaning behind his zoning session, before she sighed in frustration. "Sorry to have interrupted your patrol, Corporal," she said, giving him a short nod. "We should hurry over to the hospital before my sister has a panic attack. Thank you for your time."

"N-no trouble at all, Sarg—"

She didn't wait for the sentry to finish responding before she latched onto Hope's arm and charged off down the street. Hope waved clumsily behind him in the direction of their bewildered informant, calling back, "Stay safe! I'll pass on your congratulations to Sis!"

It was a tense, silent, high-speed walk that brought them to the clinic doors, and at that point Lightning stopped abruptly. She spun on her heel and planted a hand against Hope's chest as if refusing him passage.

"Hope, I don't know what was just going on in that head of yours," she said tersely, "but I can tell it wasn't too pleasant. Whatever you're thinking about this blackout situation, please don't bring it up in front of Serah. I know I might seem… less than _thrilled_ that we've had to come running over here because she's irrationally worried again, but that doesn't mean I don't care," she muttered uncomfortably, swallowing as if to keep a gush of additional comments to herself. "Just… don't say anything to make her even more worried, okay?"

Her face had fallen to his boots, so Hope lifted her chin and tracked her dodging gaze with gentle concern. "I know Serah, and I'm not crazy enough to do that. Can we talk about it later – you and me, I mean?"

"Yes," she whispered, and Hope wondered if it was fear that had edged into her her voice.

* * *

"Well, you guys sure took your sweet time," Snow drawled as they approached his looming bulk next to the door to Serah's room. "My wife just gave birth, so I don't wanna hear a single complaint from either one of you, got it?"

"As if I would dare," Lightning said dismissively, bringing a well-trained hand to her hip in spite of her desire to sock one to his jaw for even thinking her capable. Or Hope, for that matter.

Turning, she saw that Hope did, in fact, seem to have taken exception to the remark. His unamused green eyes narrowed above a pout that wanted to be a scowl. He shoved his hands into his pockets, where she knew there to be a multi-tool, measuring tape, his red bandanna, and a bundled length of copper wire – any of which could have served as a spot weapon. She wondered which he had chosen to wrap his fingers around.

"Let's just go in," Hope said curtly. "Serah's had to wait long enough, right?"

"Right." Snow seemed to come to himself then, blinking as if to clear away spots from his vision, something about Hope's reaction apparently having cut through his temporary funk. Suddenly, he broke into a goofy grin and ruffled Hope's hair into even more of a wreck.

"Don't let her see you lookin' like_ that_, little bro. Scared the hell outta me!"

"Looks like there's hope for the future," Hope muttered, and Lightning snorted.

_I couldn't agree more. Snow's becoming immune to my death glare._

All three of them entered the room in high spirits, and Serah smiled wearily at the gathering from her bed. The solar lantern perched on a side-table bathed everything in its familiar bluish tones, making the infant in her sister's arms look frozen. Seeing them like that sent a shudder through Lightning's frame – she was unable to disassociate it with the image of Serah's crystallized form of the past, the lighthearted feeling she had just allowed to settle in evaporating instantaneously.

_No. This is not the time for morbid thoughts, and with the way things have been going today, she'll see right through me._

"Rough trip in the dark, huh?" Serah questioned, a watered down version of her usual humor surfacing as she quirked a curious brow. "Or is Hope just slowing you down?"

Self-conscious under her sister's teasing scrutiny, Lightning absently combed her fingers through the tangles that she was suddenly well aware hadn't been present in her hair a few hours before. She would have given anything for a shower, or even a change of clothes, but conditions were just not favorable.

"Some of both, I guess," she muttered. "Wasn't exactly planning on a blackout and a wake-up call."

Snow guffawed and punched Hope in the shoulder, which got him shushes from the women for making such a loud noise and a fleeting dirty look from his victim that promised retribution.

_Please make it soon, and where I can watch._

"I take full responsibility, Sis," Hope said, dipping his head contritely. "There is no excuse."

Even in a state of dulled awareness, Serah rolled her eyes at the plaintive look he gave her, and she waved her hand weakly from Lightning to Hope, commenting in a bored voice, "Are you seeing this? We can't let him around Milo – he'll train my little boy so well he'll get away with murder." She made a shooing motion toward Hope.

"In the words of the very wise Lebreau," Serah quoted, punctuating it with a wink, "'Eighty-six the pout or you're out'."

"B-but, I'm his favorite uncle!" Hope protested. He sidled up to the bedside, gingerly reaching out to pat the fuzzy tuft of hair on the infant's head. As if on cue, Milo broke out in a series of gurgling wails, seemingly inconsolable.

Lightning shook her pink head, walking over to pull a very dejected Hope away from the bedside. "Come on, this is Serah's department right now."

"I'm gonna be a terrible father, huh?" he muttered under his breath, and Lightning felt her neck prickle as all attention in the room shifted to her. She looked past Hope to see the wide-eyed, questioning stares of her sister and Snow.

Serah had just opened her mouth when Lightning practically growled, "_No_, I am not pregnant." She turned back to Hope, who visibly flinched away from the dangerous edge to her voice. He was speechless, choking on whatever he had intended to say, and the wounded expression on his face made her stomach sink. She forced herself to tone it down, pressing a hand to his cheek.

"Listen, you are _not_ – sometime way off in the future – going to be a terrible father."

Still shaken, Hope merely nodded once.

"I'm serious," Lightning insisted in a hushed voice, ignoring all other presences in the room as she attempted to right her wrongs. "Don't give me that look. I… I love you, and Milo's going to love you too when he gets to know you, okay?"

A crooked smile finally spread across his face. "If you say so."

_That is the most beautiful thing in existence. And it's mine._

Serah's voice floated over to them, reiterating sweetly, "Hope, he doesn't really recognise anyone but me right now – Snow already made him cry a couple of times, so don't feel bad."

"Yeah, I suck at this bro, believe me," Snow added, grabbing Hope's shoulders from behind to give him a firm shake. Lightning's left eye twitched at the annoying interruption of the moment with her own personal sunshine, but Hope brightened up enough at the gesture to bat Snow's hands away with a laugh.

Hope ducked and slipped around to hide behind Lightning's back, pulling her securely to his chest. "Don't take your frustration out on me!" he whined.

"Aw, but it's fun," Snow teased, an evil glint in his eye. "Isn't it, Sis?"

Impossibly, Lightning's face burned a frightening shade of violet – what would have been red under normal lighting conditions. "Can't we find a better way to pass the time?" she grumbled, feeling her face grow hotter when Hope tightened his hold and pressed a kiss to her temple.

"I didn't finish my story earlier," he murmured, but she was too focused on his body at her back to really process the suggestion.

_There's something else you didn't finish…_

Once again, Snow broke through her distraction with his sickening enthusiasm. "Yeah, let's hear it!" he declared, pumping his fist in the air. "I bet half the stuff you were gonna tell is news to me."

"I can help with that, too," Serah supplied, her airy voice somehow reaching Lightning's ears.

Finally releasing her, Hope walked over to pull a chair up next to Serah's bed.

"Where should we start?" he mused. He rested his arms on his knees, cocking his head toward Lightning with a different question in his eyes.

"_Sit with me?"_ he was imploring, as if he'd spoken it aloud.

As Lightning made her way over to do just that, a wry smile curling her lips, Serah answered his original question with a wistful laugh.

"How about that day you shocked yourself at the workshop?"

Hope snickered, gathering his fiancee onto his lap. "Good choice, Sis."

* * *

Over an hour later, partway through Hope's retelling of his shocking midnight encounter with Snow in the living room, Lightning began to snore lightly against his neck.

"Maybe that was a bit too much information for one sitting," Hope said to himself, and Snow raised his head from its resting place on the bedside opposite them to nod emphatically.

"Man, I'm bushed. When's the stupid power grid gonna light up, anyway?" he groaned.

From Serah's arms, Milo whimpered almost sympathetically. "And I really wanted to get to my part of that story, too," Serah sighed. "She didn't even make it to the boomerang attack."

"Not sure I'd call that an 'attack,'" Snow joked, pushing himself unsteadily to his feet. He ignored Hope's pointed glare as he stretched and bumbled his way to the door. "I'm gonna go get the nurse – both our arms need a break for the night, babe."

The door closed softly behind Snow as he left, and Hope shared a knowing look with Serah.

"So you finally let him hold Milo, huh?" he asked, tilting his head curiously.

Serah raised an eyebrow at him. "You want a turn, be my guest, _favorite _uncle."

"O-okay," Hope stammered, stunned as it sank in. Anxious butterflies swirled in his stomach.

_Please don't cry this time…_

Slowly, he lifted the sleeping Lightning, who only grumbled something about him staying on his own side as he placed her back into the chair.

Hope removed his gloves and leaned over Serah, tentatively reaching his hands down to scoop the baby up. The solidity of those few pounds of weight settled in his arms, and he could feel every rapid, fluttering breath that Milo took against his chest.

"He's so… I… I feel like he knows something I don't," Hope whispered.

Resting peacefully against her pillow, Serah's smile lit up the room.

"I think it's more what he doesn't know," she said. "We get to help him through all the crazy stuff in life. Right now, he just needs to know that we love him, right?"

Nodding solemnly, Hope tapped Milo softly on his nose. "You're a lucky, lucky boy." His sea green eyes tracked up to look lovingly at Serah as he said, "Your mother is the best there is."

_At least on par with mine. She would give everything for you._

Suddenly, a loud humming filled his ears and the fluorescent overhead light flickered to life to flood the room. Hope squinted in its brightness, a loosed tear trailing down his cheek as he raised one hand to shield Milo's face.

"How about that?" he breathed incredulously.

Behind him, Lightning groaned and uncurled in the chair, lazily dangling one arm over the side as she brought the other hand to her eyes.

"Ugh… I finally get to sleep, and you guys turn on _all_ the lights?"

Hope just smiled down at her, trying to lull the stirring baby back to sleep by gently bouncing his arms. "If you wake up, you can have a turn – right, Serah?"

"Absolutely," she beamed, turning irresistible doe eyes to her sister.

Seeming to actually process the situation for the first time, Lightning sat up straight in her seat. She looked at the sleeping baby in Hope's arms like it was a live grenade. Milo cooed softly and she blinked, mystified.

"I-I guess… I can take him for a minute," she mumbled, fidgeting with her sleeve ends until Hope leaned toward her and cleared his throat. Her eyes immediately snapped up to meet his, swirling with insecurities he had never before witnessed.

"Just like this," he encouraged, smiling as he continued to bounce his arms slightly. "Make sure his head's supported and you're good to go."

Awkwardly, Lightning made a loose cradle of her arms to receive the green-clad bundle. He whimpered at the exchange from Hope's dynamic hold to Lightning's stiff one, but to the surprise of both, he went utterly silent within a few seconds. They collectively gasped when he turned his head and nuzzled against her chest.

"Maybe he's… confused," Lightning muttered, blushing at first as Hope clutched his stomach and choked down a round of laughs that wanted to spill out. It was Lightning herself who finally chuckled for him.

Her slight smile transformed her face, and she quietly chided, "You've got the wrong sister, little boy."

"No, he just happens to like his beautiful aunt," Hope corrected, his eyes dancing as he hovered in front of her. "Can't say I blame him."

_And I know you like him, too._

The door opened loudly across the room, and Snow came striding toward them with a very flustered nurse in tow. Her panicked eyes found Serah and she immediately exclaimed, "Goddess, where's the baby?"

Hope whipped around with an air of annoyance, crossing his arms over his chest as he jerked his head toward Lightning and Milo. The baby's face scrunched at the new voice and sudden exposure to the bright light overhead, and a trembling wail escaped his surprisingly wide mouth.

"Oh no, shh… not now," Lightning muttered, bouncing her arms nervously. She looked up at the nurse across the room, her harsh glare unmistakable. The purple-clad woman took a step back.

"What were you thinking?" Lightning hissed. Hope opened his mouth to intervene, but before could utter a word she was on her feet, still rocking the baby as she paced the room. Milo quieted down in his aunt's arms, merely whining about the light or hunger or some other unknown necessity.

"S-sorry, I'm a bit on edge since the outage," the nurse stammered. "Mr. Villiers said the little one needed to go to the nursery so his mother can sleep."

"I think we can handle it," Lightning said curtly. She made a point to stalk – with catlike care – to the doorway and switch off the light. Snow's jaw dropped as he watched the soldier's every move, her hackles effectively raised in defense of his son.

Seeing the poor nurse wring her hands at the unexpected turn of events, Hope tried to offer, "O-of course, that's up to Serah." He turned his pleading eyes to her. "What would you like to do, Sis?"

Serah shrugged, gesturing feebly toward her sister. "If Light wants to take him for a while, I don't have a problem with it. Could you check back in a couple of hours? I have a feeling she'll need to sleep too, by then."

"A-alright," the nurse replied, bowing slightly before she hurried from the room.

Lightning growled under her breath, "Tch, meddling staff."

"Hey, I went and got her myself!" Snow exclaimed, immediately lowering his voice to a harsh whisper in the face of yet another glare. "I was trying to help Serah out. You were asleep, you know?"

_I'm gonna put this down to sleep-deprived crankiness on both accounts,_ Hope surmised, taking a step back. A drop of sweat trickled down his hairline.

Lightning continued to pace. "Yeah, well I'm awake now, and Milo seems to be doing just fine. Hope can take over when I'm tired."

_Er, thanks for the vote of confidence?_

"You think that's gonna work for long?" Snow supplied, his brows raised up into his bandanna.

He was met with Lightning's impenetrable, mission-oriented eyes. "It will work as long as we make it work," she stated, her voice low and level. "There are three of us right now, so we can take him in one to two hour shifts, allowing for nursing breaks as necessary. You should be grateful for the assistance, new _dad_. Once you're back home, this is going to be the norm of your life for months. I suggest you get in shape."

Hope gulped involuntarily. Even if the charges were being leveled at Snow, he envisioned himself in the future hot-seat. It was both nerve-wracking and awe-inspiring. And it was clear that Lightning considered herself responsible for the well-being of her nephew, no matter how uncertain she had seemed. She was not one to let her personal issues detract from her duty to loved ones – an admittedly noble quality, if intimidating in its execution.

After several tense heartbeats of silence, Snow smirked in the face of Lightning's demands. "No worries – we got this covered," he drawled confidently. "Just call when ya need a break, Sis."

"As previously stated, I'll let Hope know," she replied. Hearing his name, Hope jumped from his thoughts and walked to her side with slight trepidation. He carefully brushed her bangs from her face to tuck them behind her ear, noting the beginnings of shadowy circles that had formed beneath her eyes. Blue irises, intensified by the lighting, flickered to his face.

"I can take the first shift, if you'd like," he offered softly. "I did sleep longer."

Lightning bit her lip, obviously torn between backing up her declaration to take over and the reasoning behind his request. Sighing, she blinked her heavy eyelids and turned to him.

"Here." Hope gently accepted the burden, and fortunately for all parties, Milo did not cry, merely wrinkling his brow at the moment of transfer. Lightning reached up to tilt Hope's head lower, whispering in his ear, "Wake me up when you need me."

"I always need you," he whispered back, his grin turning grimace when she pinched his stomach, "b-but I'll let you sleep for a while."

"Good." Leaving him with a kiss that reached his toes, she returned to the chair near Serah and curled up to sleep. Snow had taken his spot on the other side of the bed, his snoring face planted in the mattress next to Serah's hand.

But Serah continued to watch her brother and son thoughtfully.

"Sis, you need to rest," Hope said several minutes later, catching her troubled gaze as he approached the foot of the bed. "Is something bothering you?"

"I want to know…" she began, hesitating. "I need to know what's happening around here. The nurse who came by earlier, after the power went out, said it wasn't a one-time thing. They even have drills for it. What do you think, Hope?"

He dropped his eyes to Milo's peaceful form, hoping she wouldn't see through him to the fears that lurked beneath the surface.

"Well, considering I slept through the whole ordeal, I don't think my opinion is terribly useful," he offered.

Serah started giggling. "Oh, I doubt you slept through the whole thing."

"Sis…" he groaned. "The point is, you can't see a blackout from the transport—"

"Yes you can," she cut in.

"From the transport's mechanical space," Hope finished with a huff.

Eyeing him suspiciously, Serah charged again, "And I'm sure once you crawled out of your portable cave, you saw exactly what happened. So can I have your thoughts from_ that_ point?"

_How can this ninety-pounds-soaking-wet sister of mine be so intimidating? And right after giving birth, no less._ His eyes automatically flitted to Lightning and back to Serah, making the obvious ego-sinking connection.

"My thoughts from that point are just as inconsequential. We talked to one sentry along the way who sends his congratulations to you and Snow – nothing else interesting happened," Hope muttered, shaking his weary head as he continued to bury his deep-seated concerns with rambling. "I was tired, and we were stumbling through the dark to get over here so you'd quit worrying and go to sleep, but you're still not sleeping. And you're still worrying. In fact, you're the _only_ one worrying and the _only _one not sleeping… Well, besides me."

"What are _you_ so worried about?" she asked innocently, the words tweaking his ears.

_Maybe we've been around each other too long. Do I even stand a chance at winning? It's like arguing with myself!_

Sighing, he maneuvered past Lightning and slumped on the bed next to Serah, his right leg hanging carelessly over the side. "You, that's what I'm worried about. Milo's gonna be fine, and the power came back on, so please… sleep."

She leaned – or simply teetered over – against his arm, close enough to kiss the top of Milo's head. "I thought you promised…" she began, yawning mid-sentence, "…that you'd cut down on the interference once Sis came back, but you have been such a little meddler since the Solstice festival—"

"Okay, okay," he admitted, "but the baby was a game-changer. I can _mostly_ trust Snow and Light to take care of just you – case in point, they're not even aware that you're still awake – but Milo…" Hope trailed off, crinkling his forehead in thought. "He's all squishy and defenseless."

"I'd say Snow and Light are perfectly suited to protecting the 'squishy and defenseless,' don't ya think?" Serah mumbled sleepily. "Didn't they protect you, sweetie?"

Hope snorted in spite of himself, sputtering in false offense, "I-I wasn't… _squishy_."

_And I've had my fair share of aggravating moments from both of our heroic other halves, especially when I was younger and they didn't take me seriously._

"I'm waiting for a better explanation," Serah sighed contentedly.

"Fine. I guess I just know that their 'methods' of care-taking are more… basic needs focused," Hope delineated, trying not to let his cross attitude about the situation show on his face. "What if Milo has a legitimate question or-or some sensitive issue and he goes to Snow for advice, but he does his happy-go-lucky routine and tells him to 'forget about it'? Or he asks Aunt Lightning, and she just tells him to 'suck it up'?"

"Hope," Serah giggled, patting the back of his hand, "when Milo runs into your hypothetical hurdle, that's when he'll come to _Mom_."

"And if Mom's stuck in the clinic with some patient vomiting on her scrubs?" he asked cynically, ignoring the tiny voice at the back of his mind that screamed at him for sounding like Lightning.

"He can always find Sazh," Serah offered, nestling her face into his sleeve. "I mean, he lives nextdoor. Besides, if Milo couldn't find me during the day, you'd probably be too busy in the hangar yourself."

Hope slouched even lower against the wall at the head of the bed, heaving a sigh in defeat. "So I'm useless, then."

"Nope… not useless," she mumbled. "You're gonna teach him… how to fix _everything_."

As she finally drifted off, Hope felt a stab of conviction that he might never sleep again. His foggy eyes widened as he stared down at Milo, seeing only a puzzling web of possibilities in their future – for the new addition to the family, for his own potential family with Lightning, and for the growing population of Cocoon's citizens with their political shifts and energy constraints. It was mind-blowing to contemplate his role in that world.

A world that was no Cocoon, but was no fledgling colony with its simplistic fears, either.

_Okay, so the bar has been set unreasonably high for me. _

_This is no time to panic._

* * *

**Endnote: Oh, you guys are gonna LOVE beta-roomie's comments for this final installment! Without further ado…**

**At the VERY beginning of the chapter: "Alternate Title: Epilogue (Hthar is freaked out about the concept of pregnancy because it's messy and painful and did I mention bloody and wtf you have a freakin' CHILD and the end of it all omfg.)**

**When Hope comments that Serah was freaked out by contractions: "annnnnd in incredible pain. Don't forget the massive amounts of pain."**

**When Snow explains that they are doing a C-section: "…because she's the size of a toothpick and Snow is practically a bear, so…"**

**Immediately after Light's response to above, via drawn arrow: "see Light agrees."**

**After Light's thought about temptation leading to melon-head: "Meh, whatever. Just mount him right there, you have time to kill. Snow can videotape."**

**When Light then asks how to pass the time: "please refer to my previous suggestion."**

**At Light's thought that the couch is a bad idea: "oh COME ON, now you're just being a tease."**

**When Snow mentions them meeting Snow Villiers, Jr.: "gross."**

**When Hope thinks Light might want to get at Maqui for the coveralls influence: "at least it wasn't short-shorts."**

**After Hope's thoughts when the baby punches the air: "Serah actually got a black eye from the air blast. Poor thing."**

**When Hope mentions the baby has genes for trouble: "…actually, gotta be honest, my vote is still for Snow, Jr. :P"**

**When Hope calls Light a wardrobe raider: "cute"**

**After Light's worries over how Serah can give up so much: "wow, Lightning, where are all these feels coming from? IT'S ALMOST AS IF THE WRITER IS USING YOU AS A VOICEBOX. :P"**

**When Light snaps that she isn't the open book in the relationship: "haha BURN :P"**

**Immediately at the beginning of the transport scene: "SEXY TIIIIIIMES! Perv."**

**Right after Hope's description of Lightning: "tell me more tell me more like, does she have a car?"**

**After Hope said he could cover her mouth: "wanky."**

**After Lightning suggested a reminder: "omg WANKY :D"**

**When Snow hints that he knows Hope is down for the count: "adorable. Please tell me they make sex challenges with each other all the time now, haha."**

**When Light orders Hope to wake up: "I take it this is a problem you [Hthar] have had, ha."**

**When Light suggests they go before Snow calls again: "but, but SEXY TIMES "**

**After Hope is hit in the head with boxers: "adorable *heart*"**

**When the stunned Corporal asks Hope what he's doing in the Settlement: "totally a fanboy"**

**When Milo cries after Hope touches his head: "hahaha NOPE."**

**After Hope's thoughts that Serah is on par with his mother: "awwwww that's so sweet"**

**When Hope tells Light that he can't blame Milo for liking her: "…wanky?"**

**During Light's 'mission brief' on how they will take care of Milo: "haha nice"**

**At the end of Hope's thoughts on how he wasn't taken seriously: "…until I tried to stab Snow, muahahahaha"**


End file.
